


Head to Head

by OneEyedDestroyer



Series: Beautiful, Languid, and Filthy-Gorgeous [13]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Blowjob competition, Blowjobs, Eliot is extra, F/M, M/M, Margo likes competition, Multi, Oral Sex, Penny pretends he’s over it, Quentin is confused, Todd gets his whole life, but he’s secretly into it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-05-13 20:52:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14756103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneEyedDestroyer/pseuds/OneEyedDestroyer
Summary: Eliot believes he is better at giving head than Margo, but she’s not going down without a fight. They decide to hold a little competition to settle the score.





	1. The Best

**Author's Note:**

> This project is going to be a fucking Doozy™️. This idea has come such a long way since January and I’m excited to finally share it with you guys. These two assholes are so much fun to write, and this project has grown so much. I’m going to try to keep to posting somewhat consistently/regularly. I have a head start of a few chapters to try to keep to that. I don’t usually do multichapter fics, so bear with me. 
> 
> This fic is technically canon divergent. I ignored some details for the sake of fun. ;) 
> 
> Special Thanks to [ **Rae** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highestkingbambi) and [ **Vivi** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivi_Marius) for amazing beta skills. Extra special thanks to Vivi for giving this piece a badass title. Special thanks to Theo and the rest of FTB for their encouragement and cheerleading. You guys are the best. Special thanks to cldfiredrgn for helping me with the early brainstorm process. This fic has truly been a group effort. I hope you enjoy it.

Warm sunlight spills through the cottage windows on a lazy afternoon. Eliot and Margo lie strewn about a couch, limbs tangled around each other. There aren’t a lot of people around, but a few small groups have gathered in the cottage to enjoy each other’s company, or put off something more pressing. Margo absentmindedly twirls Eliot’s tie in her fingers as he casually strokes the outside of her thigh. They drink deeply and pass the time by waxing dramatic over the events of the week. Their languid conversation comes to a quick halt when Quentin approaches them—head bowed with a book in hand, shaky fingers tapping light and repetitively against the aging pages.

 

“What can I do for you, other than offer you the best fellatio experience on campus?” Eliot asks playfully.

 

“Wha-uh-do you mi—” the book slips out of his grasp as he stutters through the words, clearly thrown by Eliot’s brazen offer. He frowns at Margo’s small chuckle.

 

“Wait,” Margo says, putting a hand up to Quentin to cut him off. Quentin’s lips tense in frustration. She drops Eliot’s tie and turns to face him. “The best, Eliot?” Voice dripping with playful disbelief. She folds her arms and waits for a response, curious as to where he’s going to take it from here.

 

“Yes, Margo,” he says, making sure to make eye contact as he says, “the best.” Quentin runs both hands through his hair, resting them at the top of his head as he lets out an exasperated sigh.

 

“Oh please, I can blow circles around you and you know it,” Margo says, disentangling her legs from Eliot’s.

 

“Delusion isn’t a good look on you, Bambi,” he says, as he takes a knee to pick up Quentin’s book. Eye level with his collarbone, Eliot grabs Quentin’s hand and slips the book into his grasp. A hungry smirk spreads across his lips as their fingers touch. Quentin looks away quickly, running a shaky hand through his hair.

 

“I think you’re the one who’s deluded, Eliot,” Margo says after taking a beat to watch that little scene.

 

“I’m not, but go on,” he says. Margo narrows her eyes, Eliot’s nonchalance is clearly getting under her skin.

 

Their bickering grows more intense as each quip bounces off its target. When it nears its climax, Quentin takes the opportunity to slip out of the room while they are distracted; he can’t imagine this ending well for anyone.

 

“I guess we'll have to settle this,” she says, rising to her feet. She runs her hands down her legs, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt from sitting for so long.

 

“And how do you suggest we do that?”

 

“Easy,” she says. She scans the room for the perfect candidate, passing over everyone who isn’t to her liking. Her sights lock on a satisfactory targent; she points to a guy sitting with a friend by the fireplace. “You!” she calls out, voice cutting through the peaceful background noise of the cottage. Her ‘victim’ is tall and attractive, but not terribly so. He’s athletic in build, but wearing horn rimmed glasses and a sweater that suggests he wouldn’t know what to do with a bench press outside what he’s seen in films. Eliot nods his tacit approval, and rises from the couch to stand beside Margo. A bit confused, hipster glasses guy points to himself and raises a dark eyebrow. She nods her confirmation, and he makes his way over, stumbling over tables, and the discarded books of people who should’ve been studying.

“Do you like blowjobs?” she asks. He tilts his head and doubles back a bit, unsure he heard her correctly. “Quick, before I change my mind,” She barely waits for his confused nod before she grabs his arm and starts dragging him upstairs. Eliot follows behind, smirking hungrily when the guy looks back at him in confusion.

 

“She’s not kidding about changing her mind. Chop chop.”

 

Once upstairs, Margo pulls him through the door and releases his arm. He awkwardly shifts his weight from one foot to another as he anticipates the next step.

 

“Have a seat,” Eliot says gesturing to the foot of the bed. Their hipster plaything does as he’s told and takes a seat, fingers drumming on the bed in nervous anticipation. He looks at Margo, then at Eliot, then back to Margo.

 

“We won’t hurt you, honey,” her words feel more like a threat than reassurance. Taking a step toward him, she closes in on her prey; his breath catches in his throat. “Unless you’re into that,” she says, pausing for dramatic effect, “then we charge extra.” With little regard for building a moment, she captures him in a kiss. Pushing her swift tongue passed his lips, the mix of the rough pressure and the soft wetness elicit a moan of surprise more than anything.

 

Eliot unbuttons his cuffs and rolls both sleeves back, one after the other, exposing his arms for ease of motion. He tugs the knot of his tie, loosening it just enough and moves to take his place between the legs of his temporary plaything. Eliot slides his hand under the guy’s sweater, pushing it up to reveal his lean stomach. Eliot’s fingers brush softly against his skin, evoking a small shiver. He places slow, hungry kisses down his torso, stopping at his navel to dip his tongue inside. Margo pulls the sweater from Eliot’s hands and lifts it over Hipster Guy’s head. She tosses it across the room and he follows it with his eyes, the reality of the situation finally hitting him.

 

“Thank God,” Eliot says once the monstrosity is finally out of his sight.

 

“Fucking hideous,” Margo says looking down at Eliot, a cruel laugh escaping her throat as she pushes her prey into the mattress; Eliot crawls onto the bed after him, settling once again between his legs to continue his teasing.

 

“How does he leave the house looking like that?” Eliot asks between kisses. “Burn it,” he says, acknowledging the hipster for the first time in a while.

 

“Look, this isn’t because we like you. We have a fucking score to settle,” she says, grabbing his face to pulls him back into a rough kiss. Eliot unbuttons What’s-His-Name’s jeans, and pulls the zipper down slowly enough to give him one last chance to back out.

 

When he doesn’t object, Eliot continues to kiss his way down Hipster Guy’s torso, giving his hard cock a squeeze through his jeans. Eliot nuzzles the hair beneath his navel as he works his jeans off his hips. Once the guy’s cock is free, Eliot looks up at him and slowly glides his tongue over his bottom lip before placing a light kiss on the head of his cock. He takes the guy into his mouth, twirling his tongue over the head before sucking softly. Hipster Guy moans and lazily brings his hand to Eliot’s hair. Eliot laughs, sending the vibrations buzzing around his cock before he begins sucking him in earnest. He slides the hipster’s cock further into his mouth, curling his tongue around the shaft as he glides it back out of his mouth. Once his tongue reaches the head, he lightly flicks the underside with the tip. Eliot dances his tongue along the guy’s cock, alternating between teasing flutters and smooth brushes of the flat of his tongue on the sensitive skin. Once Hipster Guy is squirming beneath him, hands tangled into his hair, Eliot gives him a firm suck and gently releases him from his mouth. Overwhelmed with need, he bucks against the air and whines.

 

“Your turn, Bambi,” he says, ignoring the guy’s protests. Margo ties her hair back into a messy bun, so swiftly that neither Eliot nor their captive were sure they saw her do it. She crawls her way over to whatever-the-fuck his name is and takes her position at his side, leaning over him to grab his cock.

 

Margo doesn’t waste her time with fancy technique; she just wants to ruin his life. With her free hand, she drags her nails down his stomach, using the other hand to guide Hipster Fuck’s cock into her mouth, sucking hard. She releases him from her lips with a loud ‘pop’, and drags her tongue from his balls to the shaft. Hooking her tongue around him, she pulls the head of his cock back into her mouth; Hipster Twat moans and throws his head back. She presses her tongue against the head of his cock as she sucks, tilting her head to switch up the pressure as she goes.

 

Margo tugs on Eliot’s sleeve to pull him back down to Sweater Guy’s crotch. He takes the cue to start stroking his balls with his tongue, pulling both into his mouth at once. Margo continues her firm, intense focus on the head, picking up the pace as Eliot leisurely massages his balls. A low growl rises from Glasses Guy’s throat. His balls tighten against Eliot’s tongue, and Margo’s mouth fills with a savory warmth she did not anticipate. She slides her mouth further down his cock to funnel most of the cum directly down her throat. She pulls her mouth off him, irreverently, letting him dribble onto his stomach. Shooting a glare in Sweater-For-Brains’s general direction, she groans, aggravated and offended. Her legs swing off the bed and she takes a few steps around the room to offload her anger. She’s saying something to no one in particular that he’s grateful he can’t quite hear. Eliot reaches into his pocket and produces his flask, wordlessly offering it to her with loose fingers. She swipes it out of his hand to take a long swig.

 

“Bambi is very selective about who is allowed to come in her mouth,” Eliot says, voice low and careful. Hipster Guy’s brow furrows as he shakes his head to try to rattle the confusion loose. Not only does it seem he just committed a murder, but this man just called that hurricane of a woman ‘Bambi’. “I think it’s best you apologize.”

 

“Don’t bother,” Margo bites, swatting the guy and gesturing for him to sit up. “I need you to answer one question, and then get the fuck out,” she says, turning sharply before leaning back against her dresser. Arms folded over her chest and head held high, she waits for him to answer. She can see the wheels turning in his head as he twists his fingers into the sheets.

 

Eliot sighs dramatically, boredom already setting in. “The question is simple,” he says. “Who was better, me or Margo?”

 

“Better?” Hipster Prick asks, confused and still hazy from his orgasm.

 

“Two people just sucked your dick. Who was better?” Margo snaps.

 

Hipster Glasses considers the question carefully, subconsciously rubbing his hand over his short beard as he thinks. “I’m not sure I can answer that.” Both Eliot and Margo scoff at his ambivalence. “It’s almost apples and oranges. You two have entirely different techniques, not to mention the diff—“

 

“Right,” Margo says, cutting him off. She has no time for bullshit. “That’s not what we fucking asked you. We asked who was better.”

 

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on between you two, but I’m not sure I can decide.”

 

“Get out!” they say in unison, though Margo’s is more of a shout, and Eliot’s a bored command. Hipster Guy hops off the bed, and scrambles around for his things. As he reaches for his sweater, Eliot snaps his fingers and dismisses him with a wave of his hand. The sweater combusts into hot, white flames, glittering a bit at the moment of ignition.

 

“I’m doing you a favor, trust me.” Without looking up to witness his horror, Eliot stretches out onto the bed, satisfied that will be the last time he has to acknowledge this guy. Margo plops down onto the bed, and rolls over to face Eliot.

 

“So how are we going to settle this, El?” The sweater has burned to ash, filling the room with smoke and the distinct smell of burnt wool.

 

“Is it not settled already?” he asks casually. He wraps his arm around her and pulls her close, nuzzling her hair.

 

“He said he couldn’t choose, that’s far from settled,” she wraps her leg around his waist. “I think we need a system. Criteria. Rules.” She drums her fingers on his chest as she thinks.

 

“Perhaps an audience that is less apathetic?”

 

They sit in silence for a moment, considering their options.

 

“Coldwater.”


	2. The Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dissatisfied with the results of their impromptu experiment, Eliot and Margo decide to kick the competition into high gear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I hope you’re excited for this fic and everything that is to come. These assholes are about to Go Hard™️ 
> 
> Special thanks to [ **Rae** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highestkingbambi) and [ **Vivi** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivi_Marius) for all their hard work and amazing input as editors. My work wouldn’t be half as strong without their suggestions and help.

Margo slides out of Eliot’s grasp and hops off the bed. She disappears through the door, and returns a few moments later with a large cork board that takes up a decent portion of the room.

 

“Okay, that is definitely not Quentin Coldwater,” Eliot says. Margo laughs at his confusion, but doesn’t bother to fill him in on what’s going on just yet. He lifts himself up onto his elbows, and watches as Margo waves her arms in elegant motions, twisting her fingers into intricate shapes as she goes. A streak of light shoots around the perimeter of the cork board. Once it returns to where it started, the entire board fills with light, disappearing almost as quickly as it appeared. A tiny smile plays at Eliot’s lips. He’s intrigued, but still waiting for her to make sense.

 

“Before we get him involved, we need to set terms that are easy to score,” she says. “So jackholes in ugly sweaters can’t weasel out of giving us a straight answer.”

 

“Right,” Eliot sighs, voice stiff with exasperation. “But what does that have to do with anything I just witnessed?”

 

“This, babe,” She gestures to the corkboard with a flourish. “Is going to help us commit to our rules.”

 

Eliot looks over the empty cork board, then back at Margo, trying to recognize the spell she cast. Once it all clicks, he nods firmly. He knots and folds the fingers on his left hand, and a notebook and pen levitate over to him on the bed. “Let’s take a moment to brainstorm.”

 

After a few moments of quiet contemplation, Eliot drops his pen onto the notebook and looks up at Margo. She’s sitting on the desk, one leg crossed over the other, chin resting on the hand that’s propped up on her knee.

 

“What do we have so far?” Eliot asks.

 

“Simple.” Margo drops her hand to her leg. “We assign point values to different things. Whoever bangs out the most points, wins.”

 

“I agree. After today’s debacle, we definitely want something more specific. Concrete.” Once Eliot speaks, a sheet of paper evaporates from its place on the desk; it reappears on the cork board surrounded briefly by light as the words ‘ _Most Points Out of __ Wins’_ write themselves into the page; a small gap left for whatever final total they arrive at.

 

“Very clever, Bambi,” Eliot says, clapping the fingers of his left hand lightly against the palm of his right.

 

“Tongue technique is the big one,” she shifts the focus back to the task at hand. Eliot barely needs to nod before the cork board posts it.

 

Eliot gropes at the sheets, searching for his pen. “Testicle stimulation is paramount,” having found the pen, he punctuates his statement by flicking it at the board.

 

“I was getting to that.” The cork board starts to light up the next place in the list. “No blowjob is complete without a little nut gargling.” The next page appears.

 

“Nut gargling, seriously?” Eliot shudders in disgust at Margo’s colorful word choice. She rolls her eyes and continues with the list.

 

“Let’s keep it simple: one point if they come, two if it’s good.” The corkboard begins to fill in this rule, but stops suddenly as a thought occurs to Eliot.

 

“If they don’t?”

 

“I won’t be having that problem, so I didn’t bother to think it through, but feel free to let me know when you work it out,” she says with a smirk, examining her fingernails for dramatic effect.

 

It’s Eliot’s turn to roll his eyes; he laughs at her jab and the cork board finishes filling in the rule. Pen pressed into the cleft in his chin, his eyes lose focus as he falls deep into thought. He hums pensively as a wicked smirk spreads across his face.

 

“You undervalue the importance of stimulating other erogenous zones,” he pauses momentarily to watch his comment register. When she doesn’t react as he expected he adds, “If you plan on winning, you might want to avoid going full ‘Margo the Destroyer’ on these guys.”

 

Margo scoffs, the truth in his statement bites a little. “Sounds like you’re bitter because you know I can ruin lives without wasting my time on ‘building an ambiance’,” she says, mocking him in voice and affectation. She notices the cork board twinkling with light, yet refusing to fill in the rule. “But I accept,” she adds reluctantly, and hops off the desk and over to Eliot. The twinkle of light sparks until a sheet of paper with this rule appears.

 

“There should be a visual category,” Eliot says, refusing to acknowledge her quip. “There is something to be said for a blowjob being just as delicious on the eyes as it is on the cock.”

 

“You’re only adding that because you think you can beat me on it,” she says.

 

“I know I can beat you on it,” he makes sure the emphasis on ‘know’ is heavy and clear.

 

Margo holds his gaze, eyes burning with a righteous fury. “You’re on.” A wicked pride spreads across her lips. They break into laughter, hands finding their way to each other’s shoulders like magnets. Once they settle own, the board fills in the rule.

 

Margo walks over to the cork board, the click of her heels echoing lightly until she pauses in the center. She observes the board, taking in the rules they have so far. Eliot is tapping his pen heartbeat-slow against his notebook. They’ve covered a fair amount of ground, but they can’t help but feel like they’re missing something.

 

“Maybe something for how good it feels?” Margo offers after another moment of silence. “Zero being ‘I’d rather fuck a cactus’, three being ‘I’ve never come so hard in my fucking life.’”

 

“Fair,” Eliot says, his approval triggering yet another addition to the corkboard. “Let’s not forget variation,” he adds. Margo watches him smirk, clearly proud of his underwhelming stroke of genius, and rolls her eyes. “Nothing worse than a monotonous blowjob.” She nods her agreement and watches the corkboard fill it in. Taking a step back, she reviews each of their bullet points. Eliot slides off the bed and joins her in front of the board.

 

“Do you think we covered everything?”

 

“Looks good to me,” she says stepping away from the corkboard. She walks into the doorway, Eliot follows her with his eyes, yet again he’s not sure what she’s up to. Grabbing the frame for balance she leans forward and calls out.

 

“Quentin!” the singsonginess in her voice is unnerving as it echoes through the cottage. Quentin wanders down the hall, still clutching the book in his hand. She laughs and rolls her eyes softly at his dorkiness. His first steps into the room are shaky, tentative. He awkwardly fumbles around Margo, nearly bumping into Eliot as he tries to find a safe place to stand.

 

“We need you to do something for us,” Margo says. Quentin looks from her, then over to Eliot; the cork board catches his eye as he looks back. Making the connection, he sighs heavily.

 

“Margo is convinced she is better at blowjobs, but I can assure you my fellatio is masterful and completely unrivaled,” Eliot says. He takes a step closer to Quentin and slips the book out of his hands, placing it on the desk behind him.

 

Quentin backs up a little and swallows hard before speaking. “Um, yeah guys, I was there, and I don’t think this is a good idea,” he laughs nervously and runs a hand through his hair before hiding it in his pocket.

 

“Hear us out,” Eliot says, moving to take a seat on the desk.

 

Margo grabs Quentin by the shoulders and manoeuvres him so he’s facing the cork board. She gives him a moment to read it over. ‘ _Most Points Wins, Maximum of 17 points per blowjob_ ’ is posted at the top of the board. Seven rules sit beneath the header. They’re divided into a group of four and a group of three; each group scores points a little differently.

 

“We have a system; it’s simple and clean,” Eliot says, fluttering his fingers at the cork board with indifference.

 

“More like quick and dirty,” Margo corrects.

 

“Either way, it keeps things fair,” Eliot says. “Thoughts?”

 

Quentin rakes his fingers through his hair, chewing on his lip; he releases a heavy breath. “You’d have to blow all the same guys,” he says. Eliot and Margo consider his words and nod. Taking a moment to really think over the possibilities, Quentin paces around the room, shaking his hands out of time with his steps. Margo groans, bored; the sound of Quentin moving through the room is slowly starting to frustrate her. Finally, he comes to a halt and says, “No magic.”

 

“Oh, come on!”

 

“That’s hardly necessary.”

 

They respond simultaneously; Quentin can barely make out what either of them is saying, but the spirit of objection is abundantly clear. “Magic creates too many variables that make it difficult to score accurately,” he says, firm in his conviction. Surprised to see him put his foot down, Eliot and Margo share a look. With their eyes locked, they wordlessly weigh their options. Margo folds her arms across her chest and huffs. Eliot rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh of resignation. Light appears on the cork board again, and in comes a sheet of paper with the words ‘ _NO Magic_ ’ written in bold, red letters.

 

Quentin nods with a wide smile, clearly pleased with his small victory. A roguish smile spreads across Eliot’s face, and he glances over at Margo who’s eyes spark knowingly. Eliot steps closer, and places his hand on Quentin’s neck, thumbing soft circles across his cheek before pulling him in for a kiss. Margo comes up behind him, grabbing his hip with one hand as she slips the other beneath his sweater. Her nails scratch hard at the small of his back, causing his hips to buck into Eliot.

 

“Would you like to be our first judge?” Eliot asks into his ear, voice low and dripping with seduction.

 

“I shouldn’t,” Quentin says, breathless. Eliot kisses his neck, the hot urgency of his mouth combined with the sandpaper scruff on his jaw is overwhelming.

 

“So, you don’t want us to suck your cock?” Margo asks already knowing the answer.

 

“Jesus,” Quentin says. He’s not sure if it was the question or Eliot’s teasing that made him swear. “That’s not what I said,” he says through heavy breaths. “What I meant, was that I don’t think it’s a good idea to get between you two.”

 

Eliot breaks the kiss, leaving Quentin to moan at the loss. “We all know that you’ve been dying to get between us for a while, Q”. Quentin’s face turns red at how easily they’ve seen through him.

 

“It’s simple,” Margo says, taking her hands off him. “Both of us polish your knob, you come ‘til you can’t see straight, and then you let us know who wins.” Margo grabs Quentin and pulls him into a kiss of her own. Her lips are much softer than Eliot’s but her tongue is more coarse. “Even if we’d have more fun blowing you together,” she spins Quentin around and smacks his ass, the force of he impact pushing him into Eliot. He pulls Quentin into a another kiss.

 

“For the competition, it’s best we take turns,” Eliot says against his lips. A small whine escapes Quentin’s throat at the thought.

 

“Aww,” Margo coos coldly. “I think he’s disappointed, El.” The laugh that leaves her is nearly cruel.

 

“Another time,” Eliot says. Quentin nods almost solemnly, but with a small smile; he’s satisfied with the promise. “So, would you like to be our first judge?” Eliot places his hand just above Quentin’s belt. His fingers slip beneath the hem of his sweater and slowly push it up, revealing a soft patch of hair.

 

Remembering something he heard being whispered around the cottage this afternoon, Quentin is suddenly very concerned. “Wait,” he says, quickly jumping out from Eliot’s grasp.

 

“What now, Fillory and Further Excuses?” Margo asks. Quentin’s face twist in offense.

 

“Did you really burn some guy’s sweater because he wouldn’t settle your argument?”

 

“Of course not!” Eliot says. Quentin’s shoulders relax at the reassurance. “We burned his sweater because it was fucking hideous,” he and Margo erupt into a fit of laughter.

Quentin runs a weary hand through his hair. “Jesus Christ, guys,” he curses under his breath.

 

Eliot and Margo’s laughter dies down. “How are we going to do this? Would you like to go first?” Eliot asks.

 

“I’ll be nice and let you go first,” Margo says. “So Coldwater isn’t disappointed when you aren’t as good as I am.”

 

Eliot closes the space between them and speaks just loud enough for her to hear. “I’ve had you Bambi, and I can’t say I’m impressed.” The second it falls out of his mouth, he starts to regret it, but he can’t take it back. He hasn’t been very serious throughout this little game of theirs, but he saw the sting in her eyes. It was brief, but unmistakable. He attempts to apologize, but the sound that leaves Margo’s throat drips with so much offense that he physically recoils.

 

“Unless you want to watch a murder, Q, I suggest you leave.”


	3. Point Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furious with Eliot’s comments, Margo shows him exactly what she’s made of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back guys! Thank you for sticking with my devious little pet project. I hope you’re enjoying the ride. 
> 
> This chapter was Wild™️ to write. I’m going to let it speak for itself. 
> 
> As always super special thanks to [ **Rae** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highestkingbambi) and [ **Vivi** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivi_Marius) for their editing skills.

_“Unless you want to watch a murder, Q, I suggest you leave.”_

Quentin makes his escape, slipping between Eliot and Margo with his hands held near his head. He tries to squeeze his body small enough to move through them without touching either one. Once Quentin is out of the room, Eliot slowly closes the door behind him.

 

“Not impressed, El?” Margo asks, taking slow, heavy steps toward him. Her heels click loudly against the floor, each step more deliberate and unsettling than the last. She takes her place dangerously close to him, and looks up into his eyes; her own are burning with that fury she uses to silence her pain. In this moment, Eliot is keenly aware of how small she is, and yet how easily she could kill him if ever she had the desire. He scans her face, and swallows hard. He knows he’s not in any real danger, but this is the closest he’s come to being afraid of Margo. She places her hands on his chest, far gentler than he was expecting. Anyone watching this play out might mistake this for a lovers’ embrace, but Eliot knows better. This is Margo proving a point. Her deceptively soft touches leave him tense from the shoulder down, breathing slowly.

 

“You truly are terrifying,” he says, voice shakier than he wants it be. Margo’s eyes soften, and the burning fury is replaced with a mischievous spark. They’re playing again; he hopes they’re playing again.

 

“Apology accepted, but I’m still going to prove you wrong.”

 

“Don’t let me stop you,” he says, tentatively. He figures that since they’re here, they might as well. In any case, he hasn’t had any good head this week.

 

“Like you could,” she slips her hands beneath the opening in his shirt. One by one, she pops the buttons with a smooth sweep of her fingers. A playful grin creeps its way onto Eliot’s lips. Once his shirt is open, she slowly runs her hands down his chest, pausing momentarily to scratch her fingernails through the hair. He holds her gaze defiantly, now that he’s sure they’re playing again he isn’t going to let her win. She watches his pupils dilate and that’s all the encouragement she needs. Emboldened by his response, she teases him with a sardonic coo.

 

Eliot rolls his eyes, and laughs, not quite sure he trusts himself to push back just yet. Margo brings her lips to Eliot’s nipple, letting her breath tickle just a bit before stroking softly with her tongue. The mix of sensations holds all of his focus on his nipple until it releases, running down his spine with a shiver he’s unable to stop. He hates that she knows his weak points.

 

“Do I detect a bit of an ambiance?” he says with pointed skepticism. He’s finally bold enough to start playing around again.

 

“I said I don’t waste my time on it,” she takes his other nipple into her mouth, capturing this one between her teeth before sucking hard; he fights hard to stifle a moan. “Doesn’t mean I haven’t mastered it.” A wicked laugh leaves her lips, making no effort to hide how pleased she is with the effect she’s having on him. “But if you’d like me to get on with this,” she punctuates the offer by grabbing his cock and squeezing firmly. He’s already half hard.

 

Margo walks her fingers up to the top of his slacks. She pops the button, swiftly undoing the zipper. Soft, elegant fingers touch Eliot’s cock, slowly moving down the shaft. As she strokes him, the rich brown of her eyes draws Eliot in, locking him in the moment with a complex mix of hunger and pride. He’s been playing unamused, and up until this point, he was fairly sure he was convincing, but in this moment he knows his eyes have betrayed him. Desire and curiosity are never easy for him to cover, especially not from her. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but there is something electric between them—a strange magnetism that draws him outside of his typical pattern and comfort zone. His eyes drop to glance at her lips, a devilish smile now making its home on them. Fully aware of his body again, Eliot realizes he’s painfully hard. He doesn’t know how she does it. To be fair, she is the best girl he’s ever had (not that he’s had many) but he’s never going to give her that satisfaction.

 

“Dicks get hard when you touch them, Margo. You’re not special,” he says, voice low and heavy with false boredom. That must’ve stung a bit, because his slacks are being jerked off his hips, and Margo is on her knees. He can’t say he’s ever seen that before.

 

“Is that what helps you sleep at night, Eliot?” Without giving him a chance to respond, she slides the skin down, revealing the head, and takes his cock into her mouth, just long enough to get him wet. She glances up at him quickly, before closing her eyes. Taking him back into her mouth, she sucks lightly. Her mouth is warm and soft, a combination of words that never accurately describe her entirety. She flicks her tongue over the head of his cock with a clever twist that Eliot instantly recognizes as something he taught her when they first started sharing playmates.

 

“Fuck.” It falls out of his mouth before he can suppress it. He’s not crazy about it, but if a little pride is the only causality in this battle of theirs, then they’re okay. “Remind me never again to teach you tricks you might be able to use against me,” he says, he wants to reach out and thread his fingers into her hair, but he refuses to admit defeat. Margo laughs and slides her tongue out of her mouth, flush against his cock, before twisting her mouth over him in a slow, fluid motion. She releases him from her lips, her hand quickly taking their place. As she strokes the head of him, she dips her head down and traces delicate spirals over his testicles. A firm suction pulls one of them into her mouth, then the other. A light hum vibrates around them in a way that makes his brain go fuzzy.

 

“Bambi,” he moans, so softly he hopes she didn’t hear.

 

“Yes?” She asks with a smirk. Of course she did.

 

Returning her attention to his cock, she slides him in and out of her lips, occasionally stopping to tease him with the tip of her tongue. He yawns dramatically, knowing it will get a rise out of her. He’s aware that she can see through it, but he can’t help but keep up the game.

 

Without missing a beat, she sucks hard, twisting her tongue over him with renewed vigor. He moans, completely uninhibited by his pride. She slides her mouth slowly down his shaft, taking him progressively deeper with each stroke. He watches in awe as his considerable length disappears down her throat. Once her lips hit the base of his cock, she opens her eyes; they’re lit with smugness as her lips curl around him. He’s struck sheepish and despite his best efforts, can’t continue to feign disinterest. He feels the soft tickle of her tongue on his balls, before she slowly begins to slide his cock out of her throat without breaking eye contact. When she gets to the head, she lets the flat of her tongue usher him out of her mouth and gives him a firm, precise lick with the tip of her tongue before bringing her lips back over him for some consistent, firm suction. He feels the pressure in his cock boil over, almost out of nowhere.

 

“Don’t!” He says, alarmed. Every touch is suddenly live wire hot. He reaches both hands out, one onto the desk behind him, the other on her shoulder to stabilize himself as the pleasure works its way from his shoulders down to his hips. Margo is taken aback by his sudden orgasm, but moans triumphantly around him as he spills into her mouth.

 

Once they’re sure she’s caught the last bit, she gives his cock one last kiss and rises to her feet, smoothing her skirt as she goes. His chest heaves with breaths of satisfaction, and his face burns red with both pleasure and a bit of embarrassment. Margo pulls him in for a kiss, sliding her tongue roughly across his own. The heady saltiness of his own pleasure is simultaneously intoxicating and humbling. She breaks the kiss, and he’s hit with the full weight of the moment. He definitely lost this round.

 

“That tastes awfully impressed to me, El,” she says with an exultant smirk. He laughs, sated and defeated, and nods in concession. Margo kicks her heels off and jumps onto the bed. “Now put your cock away and get in bed.”

 

He tucks his cock back into his slacks and crawls his way onto the bed. When he’s eye level with her chest, Margo pulls him into her. “Since I won that little coin toss, I get to pick who goes first tomorrow,” she says, stroking his hair. “You can take the first crack at Coldwater, and I’ll find another boy to destroy while you’re occupied.” He breathes her in, the sound of her heartbeat soothes him further into that sleepy afterglow. “That’ll be two out of the way easy.”

 

“Don’t get too bold, Bambi,” he says with a genuine yawn. “I’m still going to win this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you survive? It’s yet to be seen if Eliot did. ;)


	4. Round One: Eliot/Q

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s morning in the cottage and the competition has officially begun. First up, Quentin Coldwater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! This chapter was a lot of fun to write. A lot happens, and a lot has Changed™️ over the course of the editing process. I’m sure a few of you have been waiting for this particular pairing to have their turn. 
> 
> Special Thanks to [ **Rae** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highestkingbambi) and [ **Vivi** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivi_Marius) for their editing assistance. Special Thanks to Coldfiredragon for all the sounding board help. And thank you to the Free Traders for all their support. 
> 
> Onward to Glory!

Morning sunlight fills the room with a warm glow. The air is buzzing with pre-competition electricity. Eliot comes up behind Margo and slips his arms around her torso, pulling her close. “Well aren’t you prepared for battle,” he says, chin atop her head, appraising them both as they look in the mirror. Margo’s hair is tied tight in a high ponytail. She’s dressed in a strikingly simple ensemble of a black camisole and matching yoga pants. His own outfit of Oxford blue slacks, and pale blue button down seems painfully formal in comparison—despite being unbuttoned midway with the sleeves rolled back.

 

“I’m here to win.”

 

He gives her a quick squeeze and says, “I would say ‘good luck’, but we both know you’ll need way more than luck to have a chance at this.”

 

“Step on a lego,” she says with a half smile.

 

“I’m going to go find Quentin,” Eliot says, turning to step out of the room, but he pauses to add, “Meet back here once you find your first ‘victim?’” Margo nods and quickly makes her way out of the room.

 

As Eliot walks downstairs, he catches a glimpse of Quentin curled up by the window, still holding that damn book. He takes a seat next to him, placing a gentle hand on his thigh.

 

“Hey,” Quentin says softly. “So, uh Margo,” he trails off. Eliot waits for Quentin to finish. After an awkward silence it occurs to him that perhaps Quentin paused to allow him to set the pace. Not how he planned to start his day. His desired pace is ‘not at all’, but he can’t blame the nerd for being worried. Eliot is relieved when Quentin continues. “Is she—are you guys,” he pauses a bit, trying to find the right words. It’s clear he still isn’t sure what the fuck happened last night. “Are you guys okay?”

 

Eliot takes a moment to really think. A lot happened very quickly last night. “Yeah, we’re okay,” he finally says. “She just needed to remind me of something,” he says, following up. He looks Quentin in the eyes and places his hand firmly on his shoulder. His face softens and he begins stroking his thumb lightly across Quentin’s collarbone. “The thing about Margo is—and don’t tell anyone I told you this,” his grip on Quentin’s should gets a little tight to emphasize the weight of his statement. “If it gets back to her, I’ll have to kill you myself to spare you from her rage.” He laughs, but Quentin tenses up further, unable to see whatever humor Eliot is responding to. “The thing about Margo is that her intensity, her fury, her abrasive approach to the world, those cover up a lot of soft spots.” Quentin begins to relax, slowly taking in what he’s being told. He tucks some hair behind his ear as he listens. “Don’t get me wrong, none of it is fake or exaggerated, but it isn’t as full of a picture as she wants you to think.”

 

“So, what happened last night?”

 

“In the heat of competition, I poked a soft spot,” he says with a sigh. “I said something I knew would hurt.”

 

“Margo doesn’t seem like the type to care what people think about her,” Quentin says, still not fully understanding.

 

“I’m not people, Q,” he says, releasing a heavy sigh of resignation. His grip loosens and he resumes stroking little circles on his collarbone. “But it’s fine,” he nods sharply to emphasize the statement. “She reminded me exactly who she is and what she’s capable of, and the competition is on now more than ever.”

 

Quentin slowly nods his head, processing everything. “Now that we have that out of the way, will you do me the honor of allowing me to lift the mood with a blowjob?” Eliot asks with a laugh. Quentin joins in with laughter of his own and relaxes into Eliot’s touch.

 

Eliot slides his hand to the back of Quentin’s shoulder. The cotton of his T-shirt is soft, but anyone with half a fashion sense wouldn’t be caught dead in it after five a.m.. He gives Quentin two quick taps and gently nudges him to push himself off the bench. Rising up behind him, Eliot places both hands on his shoulders and leads Quentin to the bedroom. Once they’re in front of the cork board, he slowly runs his hands down Quentin's arms, palms rough against his skin. As he reaches his wrists, he limits his touch to a single finger, lingering a bit before he traces lazy shapes into Quentin's palms.

 

“I believe you’ve met,” he says next to Quentin’s ear. He releases his wrists,  drawing his attention to the corkboard with a lazy wave of the hand. Quentin shivers involuntarily, and swallows hard before nodding his affirmation. “In order to participate, you need to agree to the rules and the magic of the cork board,” he says. “We just have to wait for Bambi to return with her first play thing.”

 

As if on cue, Margo bursts into the room, dragging a very confused, but eager Todd behind her. She releases the collar of his shirt once he’s standing next to Quentin in front of the cork board. He awkwardly regards Quentin with a vague hand gesture, stupid smile still plastered wide across his face. Once Eliot realizes exactly what this means for him, he looks Todd over in reluctant appraisal. A grimace twists its way onto his face; he is not pleased with the addition of Todd to their little game. He looks over at Margo and is met with smug indignation, clearly she’s been waiting for him to look her way. Her lips curl into a triumphant smile, parting enough to barely reveal her teeth. He can’t believe her. This is war. Eliot glowers at her before accepting the challenge with an affected eyeroll.

 

Completely oblivious to the tense exchange happening between Eliot and Margo, Todd waves at Eliot.

 

“Hi, Todd,” he says through gritted teeth. Todd’s smile dims a bit while Margo smiles as she watches Eliot try to release his frustration.

 

“In case it isn’t obvious,” she says, returning her focus to Todd. “You get a blowjob from both of us, you lucky bastards.” Todd glances at Eliot, then back to Margo; a huge, brilliant smile spreads across his face that he makes no effort to hide. Eliot can’t help but feel smug.

 

“All right,” Margo continues. “If you want to play, you have to agree to the rules.”

 

Eliot places a hand on the corkboard, his ring-clad fingers absentmindedly stroke the wood as he speaks. “The cork board will read your thoughts and physiology to calculate a score based on your responses.”

 

“There are seventeen total points, but you won’t need to worry about that. The cork board will do all the dirty work,” Margo says, picking up where Eliot left off. “Any questions?” They give Quentin and Todd a moment to look over the cork board and think on everything they’ve just heard. Their victims stand in silence, a mess of tapping fingers, awkward glances, and fingers running through hair. They both shake their heads, unable to come up with any further questions to ask.

 

Upon their response, a spark of light appears on the corkboard illuminating each rule, one by one. Once the last rule is lit, the shimmering light leaps off the cork board and swirls around the room before winding itself over to Quentin and Todd. The light spirals around their heads, all the way down to their hips. Quentin flinches, startled, and Todd giggles at the sensation. Both men reflexively pull back their shirts. Painterly strokes of black inkwork interweave stylized letters ‘E’ and ‘M’ in such a way that they nearly resemble a crown. The guys look to Eliot and Margo; Todd is curiously confused, but Quentin’s face is tense with worry.

 

“Just a little something to bind you to the magic of the competition,” Margo explains. “Don’t worry, Coldwater. It’ll fade once a winner has been declared.”

 

“I think it’s a good look for you,” Eliot says, teasing. “Are we ready?” Eliot asks, addressing the entire room.

 

Margo walks over to him, heels clicking powerfully. Once they’re toe to toe, she looks up into his eyes. It’s amazing how someone so small can be such a dominant force in the room.

 

“May the best man win,” he says, looking down at her, eyes narrowed and smug.

 

“She will,” she says, completely unphased.

 

Without breaking eye contact, Margo extends her arm behind her, holding her hand open expectantly. “Todd,” she demands. He startles a bit, but places his wrist into Margo’s hand like it belongs there. Her fingers lock around him and she strides out of the room, causing Todd to stumble as she drags him behind her.

 

Eliot blinks a few times, not entirely sure how to process what he just saw. Eventually, he brings his hand to his mouth, he fakes a cough to mask his small laugh as he closes the door behind them. He looks over at Quentin awkwardly standing before the bed. A tense hand rubs at the back of his neck as he looks around the room, unable to focus. Eliot walks up to Quentin and places his hands on his shoulders. “Are you ready?” he asks, stroking soft circles at the meeting of Quentin’s collar bone and throat. Quentin nods, the corner of his mouth curling into a weak smile.

 

Eliot slides his hand up Quentin’s neck and pulls him to his lips, letting his own smile dissolve as they meet. He pulls Quentin’s bottom lip into his mouth, the light suction coaxes a soft moan from him. Nervous hands find their way to Eliot’s neck, but quickly recoil, almost like it burns to touch him. Pulling away from Quentin’s mouth, Eliot kisses a line up his jawbone. He nuzzles his stubbled jaw against Quentin’s cheek before whispering into his ear.

 

“Don’t overthink it,” Eliot’s voice rumbles low against his ear, hot breath tickling just enough to send chills down his spine. “This is supposed to be fun.” He captures Quentin’s earlobe in his mouth for a brief moment before trailing wet kisses down his neck. The moan that escapes Quentin’s throat carries some of the tension away. He melts completely when he feels Eliot’s rough hands slip beneath his shirt. Eliot thumbs the soft hair beneath Quentin’s naval, then grips his shirt, pulling it swiftly over Quentin’s head. Quentin’s eyes light up with absolute awe, almost as if he’s never come out of a shirt so smoothly in his life. Eliot laughs and flings the shirt across the room. He feels Quentin tense up as he steals repeated glances at the cotton now laying in a heap on the floor.

 

“Your clothes are safe with me,” he says, pulling him in for another kiss. Quentin’s lips are are tight, and hesitant, so he pulls back. “Your clothes are the furthest thing from my mind. I promise.” He pulls Quentin back in, quickly gliding his tongue over his lip and into his mouth. Quentin brings his hand up to cup Eliot’s neck, but narrowly misses as Eliot slips through his grasp. He kisses his way down Quentin’s body, stopping to nip at his throat. Eliot rakes his fingers down Quentin’s chest, dangerously close to his nipples. An involuntary shudder works its way through Quentin’s skin, causing him to moan; Eliot loves how responsive he is.

 

Placing wet, urgent kisses down from Quentin’s naval, Eliot hooks his fingers beneath the top of his jeans and slips the button free. He unzips the jeans quickly and pulls them over Quentin’s legs, tossing them aside.

 

“Naked at last,” a wolfish grin lights up his face. A deep blush rises up Quentin’s neck, and he laughs nervously. Eliot traces the length of Quentin’s cock with his finger, so lightly he can see Quentin mentally will himself to try to feel it. He slips two fingers into his mouth, and uses the slickness to glide them along the head of Quentin's cock. He increases the pressure with every agonizingly slow stroke. Soft whines escape Quentin’s lips and his eyes fall closed.

 

Eliot places a kiss at the base of Quentin’s cock, pressing it gently against his stomach. He heads south and lets his tongue explore the sensitive skin beneath his testicles. Quentin laughs, and Eliot isn’t sure if it’s from nerves or amusement. He glides his tongue slowly up the length, taking the head into his mouth. Quentin’s laughter gets caught in his throat. Eliot moans around him; he’s banking on Quentin assuming the moan was him reveling in his pride, but Eliot knows it was the taste of him that got the response. He slides his mouth over his cock, tongue clever and agile as it plays along the head. It’s Quentin’s turn to moan when Eliot’s hands join in, one raking up his stomach, the other cupping his balls. He swirls his tongue over the head once more before slipping it out of his mouth. Before Quentin has a chance to react, he dips down and pulls both testicles into his mouth, his hand taking up residence where his mouth once worked its magic. He sucks lightly before releasing them in favor of sensuous tongue work.

 

Eliot brings his mouth back over Quentin’s cock, swirling and sucking much quicker than before. He slips his tongue out of his mouth to stroke the shaft as he turns his head. The sound that escapes his throat is an adorable mix of desperation and surprise. Eliot quickens the pace, alternating between soft sweeps of the tongue, and firm suction. With each progressive stroke, he takes Quentin’s adequate length deeper, quickly finding his way to the base. Feeling Quentin’s hands snake into his hair, he flattens his tongue along the underside of his cock and slowly begins to slip it back out of his mouth. As the flare of the head leaves his swollen lips, he lifts his lust-heavy eyelids, and captures Quentin’s gaze. Without breaking eye contact, Eliot slips Quentin back into his mouth and continues to suck vigorously. Quentin’s hips buck and he knots his fingers tighter into Eliot’s hair.

 

Now the real show begins.

 

He slows his strokes to an agonizing pace. Quentin’s arms go limp and he lets his hands fall out of Eliot’s hair. Gripping him in his left hand, Eliot slips Quentin out of his mouth; he whines at the loss. He keeps his mouth close enough to Quentin that he can see him react to the tickle of his breath, but far away enough that his lips don’t brush his cock. Eliot looks at Quentin, really taking him in. His heavy breaths, flushed skin, closed eyes are captivating; he’s completely unaware of just how delicious he looks. Before he can even register it, Eliot’s tongue runs along his bottom lip, making brief contact with Quentin's cock. The tiny touch sends a jolt all the way through Quentin’s body.

 

Eliot swirls and flutters his tongue against Quentin's frenulum, lightly at first, but quickly increasing the pressure. Quentin’s cock starts to jerk and throb beneath him so he backs off and slows his pace again before completely removing his tongue. He lets him sit like that for moment, desperately writhing against nothing, before bringing his tongue back to his cock. A surprisingly high pitched moan falls out of Quentin as he throws his head back in ecstasy. Looking up at him, Quentin’s half hooded eyes plead with Eliot not to judge him. Eliot can’t help but smile before bringing his tongue back over him, tracing intricate shapes. Firm swirls of the tip of his tongue press hard against Quentin’s frenulum. His hips jerk, twisting him away from Eliot’s mouth. Eliot waits a moment, allowing Quentin to really bathe in all the desire before swiftly recapturing his cock. He holds his lips softly around the head, stroking lightly enough to drive him insane.

 

“El,” he practically begs, voice ragged and heavy with need. “Please.” Okay, he’s actually begging now; Eliot decides he’s had enough. He strokes his tongue along his frenulum one last time before sucking hard. The sudden pressure mixed with the stop-and-go stimulation sends Quentin flying over the edge. His fingers lock into Eliot’s hair and a primal moan carries the white hot pleasure through his body. Eliot moans as Quentin fills his mouth with the heady slickness of his orgasm. Quentin falls back onto the bed and erupts into a fit of laughter. Eliot chuckles a little and reaches for a cigarette—proud of his work. When he lights it with a snap of his fingers, he notices the sigil glowing on Quentin’s hip.

 

The light jumps off the sigil in seven small orbs. Winding around the room in twinkling spirals, they splatter onto a sheet of paper tacked to the corkboard one by one, each leaving inky numbers in their place. Quentin and Eliot hurry over to the cork board and read the additions to the paper.

 

“Eliot,” Quentin says. “I think this is your score.”


	5. Round One: Margo/Todd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margo gives Todd the ride of his life in her first blowjob in the competition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, guys. I apologize for not posting last week. I had a death in the family, and then a few other personal issues, so I decided to take a small break. 
> 
> Now that I’m back to my writing schedule, here is one of my favorite chapters in the entire fic. Margo and Todd are about to have quite the Experience™️, and I hope you guys are too. 
> 
> If you’re enjoying the fic, drop some kudos and a comment, and I’ll Love you forever.
> 
> Special thanks to the Machete Squad ([ **Rae** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highestkingbambi) and [ **Vivi** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivi_Marius)) and the Free Traders as always.

“This one’s yours?” Margo barely waits for Todd’s gawky nod before pushing him through a door painted in colorful, geometric shapes. She effortlessly hooks her foot around the corner of the door and kicks it shut. Todd’s eyes sparkle with amazement and want, mouth stupidly ajar. His bottom lip is full and slick from subconscious sweeps of his tongue; Margo can’t help but want to kiss this pathetic boy. She pushes him against the wall. When her body connects with his, she feels his arousal pressing against her thigh.

 

“I’ve barely touched you, sweetie,” her voice is patronizing yet affectionate. Todd’s eyes soften, visibly embarrassed. Before he can get too deep in his feelings, Margo claims his lips in a fierce kiss. Her tongue slips swiftly into his mouth, and glides against his. Todd moans and reaches up to palm at her breasts. She laughs into his mouth as she feels him swipe a thumb over one of her nipples, shifting the jewelry. She withdraws her tongue from his mouth, and kisses roughly down his neck.

 

“You like those, huh?” she asks, going in to take his throat between her teeth. Todd groans, a mix of pain and pleasure. To soothe him, she smooths the flat of her tongue over the bite, leaving it wet. Before he gets the idea that she’s going to be gentle with him, she breathes cool air over the wet skin, sending a deep shudder down his spine.

 

She grabs the bottom of his shirt and jerks it out from his belt. Without care for presentation or Todd’s belongings, she yanks his shirt open, sending a couple of buttons flying as she pushes it off Todd’s surprisingly broad shoulders. She drags her nails down his torso, leaving red welts in her wake, before swiftly undoing his belt. Todd’s eyes light up; how easily impressed he is.

 

“You’re really good at that.”  

 

“Oh please, I undress Eliot on the regular. You, Todd, are chump change.” Todd quickly shuts his mouth, swallowing nervously as Margo tugs his pants off his legs. His brow furrows, clearly shocked by how quickly he’s been undressed. Margo shoves him onto his bed and crawls her way up to his hips, smiling fiercely now that her prey is exactly where she wants him. With both hands on either side of Todd’s hips, Margo licks up the shaft of his cock before taking the head into her mouth. She releases him quickly, leaving him wet and glistening with saliva. She drags the flat of her tongue up Todd’s cock, pressing it against his stomach; the shiny wet from her mouth leaves his stomach a bit slick. The tip of her tongue flicks against his cock with an aggression that has Todd squirming and moaning beneath her.

 

She grabs his cock firmly and pulls him into her mouth. Sucking hard, she twists her hand opposite her lips as she swipes her tongue against the head. She feels Todd tense beneath her. She looks up to check in, it seems he’s forgotten how to breathe.

 

“I can’t blow you if you’re dead,” she says. Todd furrows his brow and cocks his head, confused. “Breathe.” She strokes soothing circles where the sigil brands his hip. When she feels him exhale, she returns her mouth to his cock. Todd tries to lean up to get a good look, but falls back onto the bed, half clumsiness, half pleasure.

 

“Holy shit, Margo,” he says. Despite his heavy breathing, his voice still manages to be energetic. She places a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss at the base of his cock, sliding her mouth up his length and back down again. Taking his balls into her mouth, she strokes them with her tongue, humming around him, causing a deep moan to vibrate from Todd’s chest. Mouth still on his sack, she gives him a few quick strokes of her hand, the wetness from her mouth growing a bit tacky. Margo releases his balls from her mouth with a loud ‘pop’. Without wasting any time, her mouth replaces her hand. She swirls her tongue around him, pressing it hard against his frenulum. Todd’s hands wander to Margo’s hair, stroking soft circles against her scalp that she almost finds endearing—almost.

 

“Fuck,” Todd moans, breathing so heavily Margo almost didn't catch his swear. The soft strokes of Todd’s fingers shift into firm scratches, spurring Margo to double her pace. Her strokes become loud and sloppy, thick saliva helping her glide quickly over him.  “This is amazing,” he breathes.

 

While she loves being showered in praise, he’s really starting to get on her nerves. She takes his cock deeper into her mouth, sliding her tongue along the shaft as she goes. Todd bucks his hips, but she tightens her grip, pressing him firm against the bed. She looks up at him for the first time since he stopped breathing, and burns a warning into his eyes. Fingers pressed hard against his hip bones, Margo slides further and further along Todd’s length until her lips meet the base of his cock. “I can’t believe this is happening,” Todd says. Margo holds him in her throat for a few seconds before sticking her tongue against his balls. She pulls his cock out of her mouth inch by inch. Her mouth hangs agape for a moment, messy trails of saliva connecting her to Todd’s cock. A wicked smile spreads across her lips before she takes him back into her mouth.

 

Todd starts to say something else, and Margo shoves her hand up to his face. With her eyes closed and mouth occupied, her fingers wind up in his mouth, and against his nose; it’s not pretty but it gets the job done. Instead of attempting to speak again, Todd slips his tongue between her fingers, possibly trying to capture them, likely just wanting to taste her. She laughs around his cock and the vibrations elicit a high pitched moan.

 

Margo pulls her hand away from Todd’s mouth and wipes it against his stomach. She breaks away from his cock to speak. “Now you’re just being gross,” she says as if nothing she’s just done to him could even come remotely close to being disgusting. “But seriously, honey, if you don’t shut the fuck up,” she pauses a moment to make sure her words register. Todd responds with a shy nod. Dissatisfied, Margo narrows her eyes at him. Todd nods vigorously, visibly willing himself to hold her gaze. Having received the response she wants, Margo takes Todd back into her mouth. She grips his cock with one hand, and his balls with the other. In time with her mouth, she strokes his shaft and tugs his balls, steadily picking up speed. Todd moans and writhes beneath her. The intensity of the sensations causes his eyes to shut tight in pleasure.

 

“Shit, I’m gonna,” he slaps his hand over his mouth, suddenly remembering he’s been commanded not to speak. Margo pulls her mouth off his cock, quickly replacing it with her hand. Her mouth captures his balls as she strokes vigorously. She feels Todd’s cock pulse in her grip and lets it fall out of her hand. Streams of hot cum shoot onto his stomach and chest as his hips buck, contorting his body. Once Todd is spent—breathing heavy, and covered in the byproduct of Margo’s masterpiece—she crawls back over him. He’s so caught up in his afterglow he doesn’t notice her. She swipes her tongue over the head of his cock, taking a small bit of cum as she goes. The sensation makes Todd nearly jump out of his skin.

 

Margo folds her fingers in on themselves and waves her hand over his stomach, he flinches, but quickly relaxes once the mess on his stomach disappears. Margo quickly gathers his things and throws them at him. Before he can start to get dressed, they notice the sigil on his hip start to glow. A brilliant light, the color of lightning, jumps off his hip and whisks around the room, quickly slipping through a crack in the door. They share a confused glance before Margo yanks the door open. She looks back at Todd to see him with one leg in his pants, and the opposite leg aimlessly trying to work out where it belongs as he tries to watch the light zoom down the hall. She laughs as she runs out of the room to pursue the light.

 

Heavy, sporadic footfalls and loud thuds mean Todd is catching up behind her, likely tripping over himself and sliding into the wall as he goes. The light stops in front of the door to her room. After lingering long enough to be seen, it slips through crack beneath the door.

 

Margo bursts through the door, a shirtless, panting Todd stumbling in behind her, to find Eliot standing in front of the cork board. A very naked Quentin stands next to him, pointing to a sheet on the board; he screams and fumbles around for his clothes, making poor attempts to cover himself as Eliot simply chuckles. Margo swears she saw Todd take a quick glimpse of Quentin’s junk, and makes a note to explore the uses of that later. The light collides with the cork board, yet again leaving inky numbers in its wake.

 

Eliot nods at Margo, deliberately choosing not to acknowledge Todd’s wave. “You’ve arrived just in time for us to go over our scores.”


	6. The Scores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get heated when the scores from the first round are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, hope you’re ready. Things are really heating up in the Blowjobs Fandom™️! We’re halfway through this wild ride. 
> 
> Special thanks to The Machete Squad ([ **Rae** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highestkingbambi) and [ **Vivi** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivi_Marius)) and the Freetraders for everything they do. 
> 
> Happy reading. <3

_“Eliot,” Quentin says. “I think this is your score.”_

 

Eliot plucks the sheet of paper from the cork board giving it a firm shake to straighten it out. Holding a cigarette in his left hand, his eyes flick back and forth as he takes in his score point by point. Pride creeps its way onto his lips as he reads perfect scores almost all the way down. He’s unphased by his single point loss, though he is slightly surprised to see he lost a point for ‘variety’ of all things. Taking a quick drag, he looks over at a comfortably naked Quentin who has joined him at the cork board.

 

Before he has a chance to speak, the lightning blue ray of light from earlier zooms in front of his face and collides with the corkboard, leaving inky numbers surrounded by messy splatter that would make Hermann Rorschach proud. Holding his cigarette between his lips, he quickly snatches the second sheet from the corkboard, reading it at twice the speed of which he read the first. Margo received the exact same score, and suddenly he finds himself feeling a lot less smug. He crumples both pages in one hand and chucks them out of his sight with disdain. As they hit the ground, light engulfs the discarded pages and they unwrinkle before settling softly at Eliot’s feet. He huffs and narrows his eyes at the pages before wrapping his fingers around the cigarette to take a more substantial drag. When he exhales, the door flies open; a self-satisfied Margo marches in. Eliot notices a few hairs out of place and isn’t sure what to make of this crack in her veneer. Todd, half dressed and fully satisfied, hobbles into the room behind her, breathing heavily. Quentin shrieks and scrambles to find his clothes. His modesty is so endearing that Eliot struggles to suppress a laugh. His amusement is cut short when Todd has the audacity to wave to at him. He’s so clueless, and obnoxious, and yet, dare he say it, effortlessly happy; Eliot can’t fucking stand it. Unable to bring himself to acknowledge Todd, he sneers to himself and averts his gaze. He is still struggling with the fact that he actually has to perform fellatio on Todd. Eliot shudders at the thought and fills his lungs with precious nicotine before addressing Margo.

 

“You’ve arrived just in time for us to go over our scores,” he says, exhaling smoke. With a roll of the wrist, Eliot twists and folds his fingers. The score sheets pick themselves off the floor and fly into his left hand.

 

“Give me,” Margo demands, grabbing the pages from Eliot. As if he is the one being judged, a hastily dressed Quentin begins to pace around the room. “Not bad,” Margo says, looking over her score. While she wonders why she lost a point for ‘orgasm’, she isn’t going to lose sleep over it. The boy definitely got where he was going. Margo tosses her sheet aside and starts reading over Eliot’s. She honestly isn’t surprised by any of his marks, they’re evenly matched almost all the way down, though they have very different faults. Feigning disinterest with a yawn, she tosses his score sheet as well. Before it can hit the ground, light leaps from the cork board and back, drawing both sheets of paper with it, setting them with a pushpin. “Looks like we’re still tied.”

 

“It’s fucking absurd,” Eliot snaps, ashing his cigarette with a flick that is more defiant than functional. He takes another deep drag before he continues. “My edging technique is flawless and the orgasmic payoff should far offset any potential drawbacks.” He swings his arm in a flippant gesture; a nervous Quentin runs his hands through his hair and exhales in response.  

 

“What, did you lick his gooch, stroke the head with one finger and call it a day?” Margo asks with a bit of venom in her voice. Eliot refuses to make eye contact as he absentmindedly thumbs the butt of the cigarette. “You do a lot of things well, Eliot, but variety isn’t one of them.”

 

Eliot scoffs. He knows she’s just being competitive, but it stings a little. “Oh, and you’re so much better?” he brings the cigarette to his lips and drags hard, taking a moment to really focus on pulling the smoke deep into his lungs. “I bet you lost your point because you didn’t let him finish in your mouth,” he says, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke between words. “Pride will certainly be your undoing.” He could’ve gone for the jugular, but he tried that once before and it didn’t exactly work in his favor.

 

Margo considers his words carefully, but rolls her eyes to hide the fact that he made a valid point; the thought hadn’t even occurred to her. She couldn’t figure out why she lost a point there of all places, but now that he brought it up, she files the information away for later. If she’s going to win this, she needs to adapt; she can be picky once it’s all over.

 

“Cock sucking isn’t a formula, El,” she says. Eliot brings the cigarette to his lips for another deep drag. “If you’re into it, he’ll be into it. Plain and simple.” She folds her arms over her chest, and holds her head high. Eliot may tower over her physically, but the strength of her personally absolutely dwarfs him in this moment.

 

“Fellatio is an artform, Bambi.” He starts to bring the cigarette to his lips, but quickly stops to add, “One I’m objectively better at.”

 

Margo groans and rolls her eyes far back into her head. “Delusion. Not your best look, babe,” she says, turning his own words back on him. “Lucky for you, victory is breathtaking on me.”

 

Quentin makes his way over to Eliot and Margo, deliberately stopping short of actually stepping between them. “Come on, guys. Getting the same score isn’t the end of the world,” he says, voice soft.

 

“But it isn’t winning, though, is it?,” Eliot bites on the heels of a drag, tone sharp and bitter.

 

“I mean, if you guys want to settle it right now, we’re both still here.”

 

“Shut up, Todd,” they snap in unison. The frustration dissipates and they erupt into a fit of laughter, remembering that this is supposed to be fun.

 

“How about we call it a day?” Quentin suggests. “Give everyone a chance to cool off.” He watches the room with nervous eyes, lips tightening as he anticipates an answer.

 

Eliot and Margo both nod, a mix of heavy exhales and the slapping sound of hands hitting thighs in resignation. Tied at sixteen points a piece, they decide to give the competition a rest for the moment. They spend the afternoon lounging, growing increasingly intoxicated as the hours pass. Even Todd gets to hang around for awhile; they all deserve a good drink or twelve.

 

The next few days pass fairly quickly. What starts as whispers about Eliot and Margo having some grand feud grows into open conversation about them kidnapping boys in the night to play some depraved game. After two days, murmurs surrounding a mysterious light zooming about the cottage die down. A handful of guys whisked away in the night under suspicious circumstances becomes guys patiently waiting their turn for a strange rite of passage. Before the week is out, not a single cock in the cottage remains unsucked, though it’s unclear to most what it’s all for.

 

Round after round, they pull out all the stops for these boys. Despite their efforts, neither one is able to land as strong of a score as when they began. No matter what, they always result in a tie. They become so invested they have a trophy made; to say the announcement of the winner is going to be the stuff of legend is an understatement. Tension and frustration rise as sixteen points each becomes thirty one. In a turn of events that shocks nearly everyone, the next round sees Margo only managing a total of forty five points next to Eliot’s forty six. Rumor has it, the guy fled the country shortly after. The following round sees Eliot inch ahead by yet another point—no one has seen Margo’s guy from that round for a while either.  

 

At the end of the day, they gather before the cork board, ready for their final round. The tension is palpable. Margo stands with her feet apart, hands on her hips as determination settles on her face; it’s a stark contrast to Eliot casually leaning against the desk, absentmindedly playing with his rings. Quentin and Todd stand side by side between them for the third time this week. They tug awkwardly at clothes and hair as they await instruction. Somehow, they seem more uncomfortable than they were the first time they were in this position. These poor boys are so easily overwhelmed. They all hoped a break would take some of the edge off and guarantee clean results, but the anticipation is much too strong. In order to complete the competition, they need to return to where they started to get their final scores. Here’s to hoping it yields strong results.  

 

Eliot gazes upon the cork board, and places a patronizing hand on Margo’s shoulder. “We could just call it now, Bambi,” he gloats, admiring his sixty one points on the cork board. Before Margo can object, the cork board illuminates the words ‘ _You must each blow the exact same participants_ ’ in angry red light.

 

“Afraid I’ll pull a perfect score out of Coldwater?” she says, careful not to jab too deeply.

 

“After this we’ll know once and for all who’s better,” he replies, refusing to take the bait.

  
“I’ve always known, Eliot. Catch up.” 


	7. Final Round: Margo/Q

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next round of the competition sees Margo and Quentin have their turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to another installment of my absurd brainchild. Things are really starting to get proper interesting. I hope you enjoy. It was absolutely Lovely™️ To write Margo and Q find their chemistry without Eliot between them. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks, as always, to [ **Rae** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highestkingbambi) and [ **Vivi** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivi_Marius), my bad ass machete bitches! 
> 
> Comments make my heart happy, so give a bitch some love ;).

“Ready, Coldwater?” Margo says, more of a warning than a question. “Last round Todd stopped breathing.” The excitement on his face dissolves into worry as Margo shuts the door and leads him to the bed. She laughs before adding, “but I can be gentle,” as she positions herself before him at the foot of the bed. She brings her lips to his, brushing lightly before closing the space between them. After a moment, she pulls back and nuzzles his nose to drive the point home. Swinging a lean, elegant leg over his hip and sliding the opposite knee between his thighs, she threads her fingers into his hair and plays with the soft strands at the nape of his neck. “Do you want me to be gentle?” Her free hand slides up his chest, capturing and twisting the fabric of his sweater as it rises. Before he can answer, she grabs a fistful of hair and yanks, “Or do you like it rough?” With his throat now exposed, she drags her tongue clean across his neck in a show of dominance.

 

“I want you to give me your best,” he says, head pulled back, hair still caught in her tight grip.

 

Surprised by his boldness and wondering where the fuck he found it, she gives him one more firm tug. “Like I’d give you anything else,” she scoffs, connecting their lips in a rough kiss. She pulls his bottom lip into her mouth and snags it between her teeth. Quentin brings his hand to her face to deepen the kiss, but Margo pulls back, nipping his lip one more time before grazing her teeth along his jaw. Excited to see where this goes, yet not knowing what to expect, she laughs deep in her throat and pushes him onto the bed. She grabs his shirt at the hem and pulls it swiftly off his body.

 

His mouth hangs slightly ajar as he looks from Margo to his naked torso, then around the room as if in search of some secret button he may have been missing this whole time. “Seriously, how do you guys do that?”

 

Instead of bothering with his question, Margo laughs and recaptures his lips. Almost as soon as they make contact, Quentin slips his tongue into her mouth. Pleasantly surprised at his boldness, she growls and brings her tongue to meet his. She may need to give him more credit.

 

Quentin is on his back, half dressed and vulnerable. His skin is hot beneath her cold hands, as they travel down his torso, her sensual kneading eliciting content sighs. As she moves to unbuckle his pants, Margo notices how unmarred his skin is considering how recently he’s been in Eliot’s company. She gives him a condescending coo as she decides he won’t be unmarked for much longer. Her lips claim his neck, dragging the skin between them with an urgency that surprises them both. She sinks her teeth into the sensitive flesh and he moans, half pleasure, half pain. Pulling away from him to observe the maroon and plum blemish developing where her lips once were, she smiles; the first of many souvenirs he will receive today. She trails rough, wet kisses down his torso as she makes her way back down to his belt. She dips her tongue into his navel just long enough for him to jump at the strange sensation. Making quick work of his zipper, she yanks his jeans and boxers over his legs before kissing his stomach.

 

Suddenly free from restraint, Quentin’s flushed, straining cock jerks. Margo laughs and runs her tongue up the length of him. She closes her lips around her tongue right as she gets to the head, placing a soft, wet kiss on his frenulum. Quentin giggles self consciously, shrinking back a bit, and reaches out to place a hand in her hair. He quickly thinks better of it and pulls back. Still laying sloppy kisses along his cock, Margo rolls her eyes and grabs his hand, plopping it firmly atop her head and stroking it softly before letting go. Once she feels him settle beneath her, she bites his hip hard. She sucks the skin just long enough to break the blood flow, leaving a pretty, purple bruise that balances the asymmetry of the sigil on his other hip. She smiles up at him, clearly proud of herself. Taking his cock into her mouth, she massages slow, torturous circles around the head, letting him revel in the softness of her mouth. A light, startled gasp escapes his throat when she quickly slides all the way down his cock and twists her mouth to angle him down her throat a bit. Sliding him back out of her lips, her tongue snakes around the head when she reaches the end.

 

Looking up into his eyes, she notices his jittery apprehension has flickered its way back onto his face, creasing his brow. She softens her face and gives him a sweet smile. Placing a gentle kiss on his cock, she strokes his thigh gently with her thumb.

 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she says before lazily kissing down to his balls. “Unless you’re into that.” she takes his balls into her mouth, gently massaging them with her lips and tongue. Quentin flinches as though he expected it to hurt. When it doesn’t, he relaxes a bit, but a note of disappointment flashes through his eyes, causing Margo to moan around his balls before releasing them.

 

“We can work up to that, if you want.” she licks back up his shaft. “After I seriously wreck your shit with this blowjob,” she says with a wicked smirk. She pulls his cock into her mouth, giving him a firm suck before releasing him. Running her tongue over him, she alternates between swirling around him and firm flicks. She slides all the way down his cock, slicking him up, before pulling back to wrap her fingers around him. She strokes her hand in time with her mouth, twisting them in opposite directions. Her tongue is sloppy and fast around him while her mouth provides firm, urgent suction. The stroking of her hand is made smooth by the slickness left in her wake. Quentin moans and slides his hands into her hair without hesitation. He bucks his hips, sliding his cock further into her mouth.

 

Margo gets an idea. She slips Quentin out of her mouth. He whines at the loss, giving her desperate puppy eyes. “It’ll be worth it,” she crawls up his body and gives him a quick kiss before hopping off the bed. “Promise.” She takes a couple steps over to the dresser and opens the drawer. She feels Quintin’s eyes burning into her back, so she decides to play a little game. Gripping the drawer with both hands, she takes a few steps backward. She leans all the way over, and rests her elbows on the edges of the drawer. She props herself up on her toes, making sure to give him the best view of her ass. She tosses a few things around the drawer and hums a vague melody to give the illusion that she doesn’t quite know what to grab. Her fingers land on the bottle of lube and she snatches it out of the drawer, turning around with a quick spin.

 

Just as she expects, Quentin is sitting on the edge of the bed stroking his cock. She raises a stern eyebrow at him, and he stops instantly, swallowing hard. Hand on her hip, she nudges the hand carrying the lube forward until Quentin gets the memo to scoot back onto the bed. He makes himself comfortable in the pile of pillows, and gives her a nervous smile, tucking his hair behind his ear. Now that he’s right where she wants him, Margo crawls onto the bed. Once she’s back between his legs, she runs her tongue up Quentin’s cock, pressing it against his stomach. She pushes his legs open a bit wider and squirts a generous amount of lube onto her fingers. Taking his cock back into her mouth, she brings her slick fingers to his asshole and strokes delicate circles. A gasp of pleasant surprise falls from Quentin lips. She slides her mouth down his cock, stroking her tongue around the shaft while she increases the pressure against his asshole. Her finger slowly glides into him and he moans, throwing his head back. She quickens the speed of her mouth and begins to thrust her finger in and out of him.

 

“Um, wow, okay,” is all he can manage to say at the combination of her wet mouth gliding around his cock, and her finger stroking inside him, filling him ever so slightly. She slows the thrusting of her finger and curls it until she hears a deep groan. She begins to massage firm pressure against his prostate, careful not to lose focus on the pressure from her mouth. She takes more of him into her mouth, inching closer to his balls. When she reaches them, she slips her tongue out of her mouth and flicks it gently over his testicles. Moaning, Quentin's torso jerks, arms reaching far across the bed to grab the sheets in an attempt to brace himself. Feeling his cock twitch and his balls tighten against her mouth, Margo hums around him, making sure the vibrations travel powerfully from her lips. She pulls her mouth back to the head of his cock and sucks hard. He cries out in ecstasy and fills her mouth with the savory thickness of his pleasure. Her fingers stroke firm, consistent pressure inside him until she is sure he has released absolutely everything he’s got.

 

With a wet ‘pop’, his cock falls from her mouth and she withdraws her finger. He giggles and melts into the bed, overwhelmed. Margo falls onto the bed beside him and gives him a soft kiss. She slides her tongue along his bottom lip, but he’s already starting to doze off.

 

She laughs to herself, self satisfied and amused, and watches as the light flies off his hip and onto the cork board.


	8. Final Round: Eliot/Todd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot must face his biggest challenge in the completion thus far: Todd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back. I hope you’re still with me and enjoying this wild ride. This chapter was fun to write because I got to explore a different part of Eliot’s headspace. This poor boy was in a Mood™️. 
> 
> Special thanks to the badass machete squad of [ **Rae** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highestkingbambi) and [ **Vivi** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivi_Marius) and thanks to coldfiredragon for always helping me work through blocks. Thanks to the Free Traders for their continued support. It’s nice to know I’m not just shouting into the void. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and I would definitely appreciate comments if you’re still on this journey with me. <3

Harsh, amber light pours through the windows; thick smoke billows around Eliot as he releases a deep breath. He’s not ready for this. He takes another drag and watches the light play off the heavy swaths of smoke. When the smoke starts to run thinner than his patience, he takes another drag and begins again. He can’t quite place what is bothering him. Todd isn’t his favorite person, but he isn’t utterly abhorrent, and it’s not like Margo is doing anything particularly out of step with her competitive mode. He brings the cigarette to his lips and inhales. Letting his head fall back against the window, he releases the smoke and mentally wills himself to go find Todd.

 

Rather suddenly, there is a looming presence of a warm body standing entirely too close to him. Caught in the web of his thoughts, he didn’t hear anyone enter the room. He leans forward, opening his eyes, to find none other than Todd, wide eyed and beaming with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning. He groans and extinguishes his cigarette with enough force to snap it in half.

 

“Hey,” Todd says. The cheerfulness in his voice shatters the carefully curated melancholy of Eliot’s evening. “I saw Margo grab Quentin, so I figured it was time f—”

 

“I know what time it is, Todd,” Eliot says, jaw clenched to try to keep his tone from being too harsh. “How could I forget?” he says. His voice is so resigned he knows it hurt Todd’s feelings without having to look at him. Eliot takes a deep breath, sorely missing the soothing smoke. His gaze travels slowly from Todd’s feet upward, eventually meeting his eyes. Surprisingly, they’re soft, and lit with enthusiasm instead of the hurt Eliot expected—hoped for even. Eliot releases a deep breath, much louder than he intended. He runs his hands from the top of his thighs to his knees, and pushes himself off the windowsill.

 

“After you,” he says, gesturing his hand toward the stairs, waiting for Todd to start making his way up. With Todd’s back turned, Eliot reaches into his pocket and produces his flask. He takes a long swig of scotch before following Todd upstairs.

 

When Eliot finally reaches Todd’s door, he grips the frame and exhales sharply. When he passes the threshold, Todd is sitting on the bed, tapping his fingers and looking around as if he’s somewhere other than his own bedroom. He closes the door and Todd rises to meet him, waiting patiently for instruction. As much as he hates to admit it, Eliot enjoys an obedient boy. When Eliot doesn’t immediately approach him, Todd runs his hands down his torso and straightens his shoulders. Eliot tentatively places a foot between Todd’s, closing the space between them. Todd’s eyes widen, and his breathing catches in this throat.

 

Eliot places his hand on Todd’s neck. The soft strokes of his thumb along Todd’s jaw, stopping whatever words he was beginning to say dead in their tracks. Todd’s tongue flicks over his lips, wetting them, as his pupils slowly dilate. The force of a hard swallow moves Eliot’s hand slightly. He contemplates just biting the bullet and pulling Todd into him for kiss. Wrecking him should be so easy, the guy practically worships him. Eliot nudges Todd’s head back with his nose, exposing his throat; he bites down hard. Todd winces, yelping a bit, and braces himself on Eliot's bicep. A stinging, angry bruise begins to develop where Eliot’s teeth had been.

 

“Do you—” Todd tries to speak but Eliot cuts him off quickly, unable to handle more than he already needs to.

 

“Shirt off,” he commands, voice deep and powerful.

 

Todd closes his mouth and drops his finger, nodding quickly. “Okay, right, yeah.” The words are more matter of fact than upset. He reaches over his head and grabs the fabric of his polo, pulling it over his head and tossing it carelessly onto an overflowing laundry hamper in the corner of the room. Eliot cringes at the mild disarray, but quickly redirects his attention to the challenge in front of him.

 

With Todd’s chest exposed, Eliot drags his hands down Todd’s torso, his fingernails scratching hard against the smooth skin. Todd’s brow furrows a bit; maybe this is a little too much force. He lightens the pressure from his fingers and watches as a shudder runs up Todd’s spine before gripping his hips. He yanks him forward with a force that causes Todd to lose his balance; he giggles nervously as he places his hands behind him, bracing himself.

 

Eliot tugs the button of Todd’s jeans from its place, and jerks the zipper open. He yanks the rough denim over Todd’s hips, taking his boxers with it. Once they’re at his ankles, he pushes Todd onto the bed. Taking position before him, Eliot places a wet kiss against the hair beneath Todd’s navel, quickly trailing more over his hips. He sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of Todd’s thigh, this time soothing him with his tongue before moving on.

 

This is it, showtime. Expecting this to be the worst of it, he closes his eyes and wraps his mouth around Todd, hovering a bit before making full contact. When his tongue hits Todd’s skin, Eliot doesn’t know what to make of the fact that he doesn’t hate it. He should be thankful that it isn’t horrid, but instead he’s almost angry that it isn’t. He isn’t supposed to like anything about Todd. He slides down further, taking more of Todd into his mouth; if he’s being honest, the taste is almost enjoyable—almost. He glides his tongue over Todd’s cock, mostly just going through the motions. His hand lazily slides up to cup Todd’s balls briefly and without much enthusiasm. Continuing to focus his mouth on the head of Todd’s cock, he increases the pressure to make things interesting.

 

A soft whimper falls from Todd’s lips, and pride fills Eliot’s chest. If he can get this type of response when he’s barely trying, imagine what he can get when he’s putting effort into it. Suddenly, he remembers his words to Quentin earlier, ‘this is supposed to be fun’. More importantly, this is a competition, and he has a lead to maintain. He slides further along Todd’s cock with a clever twist of his tongue. Allowing himself to appreciate just how good Todd tastes for the first time since he started, Eliot moans around Todd’s cock, sucking hard. The vibrations startle a small jump from Todd and needy fingers work their way into Eliot’s thick hair. He flinches at the contact, but allows him to stay. Eliot slips Todd out of his mouth and glides the flat of his tongue all the way up the shaft of his cock. Whiny moans fill the room as Eliot works his tongue dexterously against Todd’s frenulum.

 

Eliot runs his tongue from Todd’s perineum over his balls, stroking Todd’s cock with his hand. Fingers remaining firm around Todd's cock, Eliot takes him back into his mouth, caring enough to maintain pressure at the base. With his tongue swirling over the head of Todd’s cock, Eliot increases the speed, sucking with newfound determination.

 

“Holy shit,” Todd gasps. He relaxes so fully beneath Eliot that his hands fall out of his hair. Releasing his grip, Eliot allows his hand to stroke Todd’s cock in time with his mouth, the sparse saliva creating a friction that is less than ideal. He abandons the idea, dropping his hand in favor of sliding Todd’s cock deeper into his mouth. A ragged groan escapes Todd’s throat. Eliot would smirk but his mouth is thoroughly occupied.

 

Returning his focus to the head of Todd’s cock, Eliot swirls his tongue in intricate spirals. He nearly doubles the intensity  of the suction, firmly gripping Todd’s balls. Todd’s breathing becomes heavy and desperate, torso heaving deeply as he moans and bucks beneath him. Eliot considers slowing down and really drawing out the anticipation before Todd reaches orgasm, but he thinks better of it after remembering what happened in the first round.

 

Now laced with the occasional swear, Todd’s moans continue to reverberate around them. Todd bucks, and his balls tighten and release in Eliot's hand, cock pulsing as Eliot’s mouth fills with cum. He sighs at the taste, yet again pleasantly surprised. Sliding his lips off Todd’s cock, Eliot feigns a cough, and rises to his feet. He takes a step back to admire the result of his work. Todd’s chest rises and falls with slow, satisfied breaths. His jaw has gone slack, leaving his mouth ajar and his bottom lip strangely vulnerable—appealing even. Eliot makes his way back over to the bed. He brings his face close to Todd's, but stops just shy of his lips. Before he has the time to reconsider, Todd closes the space between them, pulling Eliot’s bottom lip into his mouth. Eliot doesn’t resist the advance. He tells himself this is to make up for any points he may have lost, but the sound that leaves his throat when he glides his tongue against Todd’s betrays him. He breaks the kiss before he has too many things to think about before bed tonight, awkwardly placing a hand on Todd’s shoulder.

 

“Dude _,_ I could come in your mouth forever,” Todd says, drawing Eliot’s attention away from his thoughts. “Fuck.” A satisfied smirk spreads across Eliot’s lips as he watches Todd bask in the afterglow. As he continues to ramble, the obtrusive light of the cork board’s magic illuminates the sigil before whisking out of the room.

 

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Eliot says, finally acknowledging Todd. “I don’t plan on making this a regular occurrence.” He walks out of the room without closing the door, leaving a naked Todd in full view of whoever walks by.


	9. The Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s time for the final scores to be revealed. Todd throws a party; Eliot throws a fit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! This just might be my favorite chapter of the whole thing. It’s been a long Journey™️ and it’s finally going to pay off. I’m going to let this one speak for itself. 
> 
> Special thanks to The Machete Squad of [ **Rae** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highestkingbambi) and [ **Vivi** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivi_Marius) for helping me whip this bad boy into shape. Shoutout to coldfiredragon and the Free Traders for all their input and support.

Soft snores break the silence in rhythmic intervals that are almost soothing. Quentin’s been out for a while. Margo let him sleep since they had a significant head start on Eliot and Todd. She isn’t exactly sure how long he’s been napping, but long enough for her to make a bellini, and get a few chapters deep into her tattered copy of Practical Magic.

 

Without warning, the electric blue light of the cork board comes racing into the room through the crack in the door, slamming into the board. Margo removes the magazine she was using to hide her book and settles it between the pages, marking her place. Setting the book down, she downs the rest of her bellini. It’s time to wake Quentin.

 

“Lorian weapons will cut through that like butter,” Quentin mumbles in a quiet, sleepy voice. He’s been muttering all afternoon, mostly a word here and there, but this is the first time he’s made a coherent thought. “No, Cameltoes, those are my waffles.” Almost coherent.

 

Before she can think to suppress it, a loud laugh bursts from Margo. She is growing a soft spot for the boy. She makes her way over to where Quentin has wrapped himself up in her blankets, and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. She runs a delicate hand through his hair and scratches behind his ear. Quentin sighs and leans into her touch, wrapping himself tighter into the blankets. She tries to be gentle, but it’s not getting her what she wants. Without warning, she grabs onto Quentin’s ear and gives it a firm tug, twisting just enough that her fingernail pinches the skin. Quentin jumps out of his sleep. He attempts to prop himself up, but falls back into the pillows, trapped by the blankets. He rolls over to face Margo and glares, eyes still heavy with sleep, mind hazy and confused.

 

“Looks like I didn’t kill you after all,” she says, smoothing out his hair with her fingers. Quentin groans and pulls the blanket over his head. “You can’t sleep forever, Princess,” she says patting him on the head through the blanket.

 

Thuds and clanks draw Margo’s attention toward the door. The knob turns and it slowly opens. Eliot walks into the room much more quietly than she expected. There is a swagger in his step, but his usual air of self-possession is undercut by the wheels turning in his head. One hand strokes his chin while the other is tucked into his elbow as he paces slowly in front of the cork board.

 

Margo raises an eyebrow and starts to move, but Todd comes stumbling into the room, pulling his arm through the sleeve of an inside-out sweater. Quentin shrinks further beneath the blankets, suddenly hyper aware of his nakedness. Margo rolls her eyes, “Everyone in the room has already seen your dick, Quentin.” Expecting to be scolded for putting Quentin on blast, she looks to Eliot. He’s standing in front of the cork board with a blank sheet of paper gripped so tightly, its rippling around his fingers.

 

“What’s up, El?”

 

“You tell me,” he flings the paper at her.

 

“We’ve always looked at the scores together, maybe I just need to get closer,” she says, hopping off the bed. She walks the few steps between the bed and the cork board and waits. When the pages refuse fill in, she kicks the board hard.

 

“Seriously, cork board, what the fuck?” She kicks it again for good measure. The heel of her shoe leaving a dent in the soft wood.

 

“Bambi,” Eliot says. His tone is cautious, trying to calm her down, but he laughs, slightly nervous.

 

On the bed, the sheets are tented several feet in the air, wild movement beneath them rustling loud enough to draw a few glances. Quentin is seriously trying to put pants on under the covers.

 

Todd slowly approaches the corkboard and knocks a few times. “Hello?” Eliot groans, dropping his head into his hand before reaching into his pocket for his flask.

 

“Do you think the rules might be different for the final round?” Quentin asks, much more comfortable now that all his bits are covered. Margo looks to Eliot; he’s taking full advantage of his neverending flask.

 

“So, sex games are one of the oldest forms of entertainment,” Quentin begins. Everyone stares at him blankly, anticipating his words, clearly not following his train of thought. “And every society has its own, like, history of high stakes games—most involving war, but sex was an incredibly common element as well.”

 

“What the actual fuck are you talking about?” Margo asks, quickly losing patience. She reaches her hand out to Eliot, wordlessly requesting the flask. He passes it without resistance, lightly stroking his index finger along Margo’s when she grabs the flask from his hand. She takes a deep swig before handing it right back.

 

“Yeah, what?” Todd says, brow scrunched tightly together in confusion. Quentin looks to Eliot who is giving him a soft smile of encouragement, but his eyes are blank with confusion.

 

“Guys, it’s one of the oldest forms of magic,” he releases a deep sigh of resignation.

 

“As riveting as this is, Q, I need you to focus,” Eliot says, placing a soft hand on Quentin’s shoulder to ground him.

 

Quentin groans, running a tense, frustrated hand through his tousled hair. “Over the course of the games, strong magical currents developed,” he says, gesturing frantically with his hands. “Often binding the participants together for the duration,” he continues, tucking some stray hair behind his ear. He’s speaking with so much enthusiasm that the hair fails right back into his face. “The mutual excitement and anticipation of the players fed the magical current, in a way.” He pauses briefly to see if anyone is actually following. “The current demanded great spectacle as something akin to a sacrifice from the players.”

 

“Your point?” Margo asks, folding her arms over her chest.

 

“Maybe every player needs to be present for the final score to be unlocked.”

 

Everyone considers Quentin’s words carefully. Confused faces melt into content nods and silent musings. “Let’s give it a shot,” Eliot says, breaking the silence. “If there’s one thing we do well in this house, it’s spectacle.”

 

“Let me,” Todd offers. Eliot raises an admonitory brow, taking a step closer. “Please,” he begs, wide eyed and desperate to convey that he means no harm or disrespect. “You guys have been so awesome, it’s the least I can do.” He smiles softly. Eliot rolls his eyes, displeased, and takes another swig from the flask. “Besides, you guys have been killing it with these blowjobs. You deserve to celebrate without having to plan your own party.”

 

Eliot looks to Margo for help, she shrugs before stepping closer to him. Once they’re face to face, she puts her hands on his chest and strokes soothing circles. “If Todd wants to throw us a party, let him throw us a party.” She smooths out some of the wrinkles in his shirt. “If it sucks, we throw a better one and don’t invite him _.”_ She beams a brilliant smile, just for them, and squeezes his shoulder. When her words register, Todd does a double take, but he shrugs as his surprise quickly turns into understanding.

 

“Fine,” Eliot relents, waving a dismissive hand at Todd.

 

A huge smile spreads across Todd’s face and his eyes light up with unbridled excitement; he practically leaps out of his skin.

 

The hours it takes Todd to prepare are spent lounging and drinking. He doesn’t let any of them so much as consider offering help—not that they were actually trying to. When he’s ready, he ushers them downstairs. They're surprised to see a decent amount of people already gathered.

 

The cork board is in the common area of the cottage. No one knows when or how it happened, but the board’s wooden frame is now gold with intricate filigree detailing, the plastic tacks now replaced with ornate crystal push pins. The inky mess of rules and scores on scratch sheets has become a delicately calligraphed work of art on heavyweight paper. A small table in front of the board houses something shrouded beneath a black velour cloth. On either side of the gilded cork board rests a large crystal vase with an artfully asymmetrical neck. The sun hits everything just right, making the room almost sparkle around the set up. As the guests enter the party, they are handed a clear, teardrop shaped crystal, no larger than a quarter.

 

A guest approaches the vases and drops their tear shaped token, into the vase on the right. When it joins the others, the clear crystal dissolves into a deep crimson fluid in a shimmery flash of light— another prediction for Margo. Another guest drops their token into the vase on the left to vote for Eliot. A rich Oxford blue light illuminates the shimmery fluid of this particular vase. Throughout the evening, guests present their tokens and make their predictions for who will win, it doesn’t have any bearing on the results, but Todd thought it would be fun. Overall, the fluid in the vases stays relatively even. When one edges ahead, the other is quick to catch up, almost as if the room is hyper aware of the delicate balance between them.

 

Across the room, another table is covered in food, mostly edibles made by none other than Josh Hoberman, Naturalist and Weedman Extraordinaire. Quentin makes his way over to the table to take everything in. He spots a giant balloon sculpture that appears to be a martini glass full of balloon ‘animals’ that are definitely dicks. He throws his hands up, clearly thrown off, and turns away.

 

Quentin bumps into the table, and as he steadies himself, something catches his eye. “Are those...” he trails off, gesturing vaguely at a bowl of colorful contents he initially identified as gummy bears.

 

“Dicks? Yeah,” Todd confirms, keeping his voice smooth and blasé in that ‘trying to be cool’ sort of way. “Soaked in vodka.” The illusion is completely shattered with a suggestive raise of his eyebrows, as if college students everywhere haven’t been doing this for years.

 

Todd directs Quentin’s attention to a tray of French macarons in various shades of blue and red; they're incredibly out of place amidst the sea of phallic foods. “If you eat one these, everything will look like dicks.”

 

“What?”

 

“Josh has this crazy strain of sativa that makes you see dicks everywhere,” Todd smiles wide. “It’s awesome,” he says with a laugh. Quentin’s lips tighten as he nods, before grabbing a dickshaped gummy candy and popping it into his mouth.

 

Eliot and Margo stand in front of the golden cork board, appraising the room. Margo nods, satisfied enough with Todd’s efforts, but Eliot’s face is stuck in a grimace. Todd rushes over, presenting them with the drinks he set aside for them.

 

With the room at a decent capacity and the guests of honor finally here, Todd clears his throat. “Everyone,” he says louder than his usual volume but not loud enough to catch anyone’s attention. “Excuse me,” he tries again, still not loud enough.

 

“Hey,” Margo shouts. The entire room goes so silent you can practically hear Todd’s heart racing. “Listen up,” she says once everyone’s eyes land on her. “Todd has some important shit to say.”

 

Todd bows his head in gratitude and a continues to address the room. “I’m sure some of you have been wondering what’s been going on this week,” he says, still a little bit awkward. People start to murmur in agreement. “Well, uh,” he makes a wide sweeping gesture with his arms. “Welcome to the first ever Physical Kids’ Cottage Blowout,” he trails off and furrows his brow, suddenly deep in thought. “Blow off?” he wonders aloud. He turns to Eliot and Margo. “Guys, what are we calling this?”

 

Margo shrugs. Eliot throws back the entire glass of champagne; everything is so passé.

 

Todd waves off the minor confusion and begins to relax, growing more comfortable in the room with every breath. “Eliot and Margo have been going head to head in championship competition to prove once and for all who gives the best blowjob,” he’s not sure if it’s his sportscaster voice or the word ‘blowjob’, but the room erupts into cheers. Once the party goers settle down, he continues, “I think they’re both incredible, and that’s probably why I’m not allowed to pick the winner.” The room fills with genuine, affectionate laughter and Todd beams. “I guess we should get started!”

 

Before Todd has the chance to explain the next step, the sigils on the hips of all the participants illuminate. The light springs forth from each of them, spiraling high into the air. Whispers of conjecture start to fill the room. The individual streams of light interweave into a single beam before flying across the room and filling up the entire cork board. The speculative murmurs of the crowd rise to a dull roar, as the liquid in the vases ebbs and flows. Almost like a scale weighing items of similar mass, one color rises as the other falls. The balancing act begins to slow down. The blue fluid continues to rise long after the crimson stops and Eliot grows smug, but before he can fully realize the smirk, the blue fluid drops down some, and the red rises to meet it. The light vanishes from the cork board, leaving a glimmer that could make the night sky jealous, and a single piece of card stock.

 

Todd grabs the paper from the cork board and reads the score break down from the last round. They’re tied for seventy six points. He swallows hard, suddenly feeling very guilty as he reads that Eliot had the lowest score of the entire competition for his blowjob. The modest fourteen point score lost marks for ‘testical stimulation’, ‘inclusion of other erogenous zones’, and ‘overall feel’. He laughs nervously, sliding a hand into his pocket.

 

“Looks like the competition continues, because we have a tie, folks!” He tries to recover the moment by amping up the dramatics of the game. Margo clenches a triumphant fist and beams one of the most genuine smiles she’s ever allowed herself in public.

 

Eliot snatches the sheet from Todd’s hands, nearly tearing it. Todd flinches and scurries out of the way. Eliot reads over the final scores, his face is stone hard, eyes burning with a fury that rarely finds a way to his typically apathetic face.

 

“Here,” he says bitterly, shoving the paper against Margo’s chest. Completely flabbergasted by the sharp change in Eliot’s mood, Margo grips the scoresheet before it falls to the floor. She doesn’t understand why Eliot has been taking these ties so hard. Eyeing the score sheet, she finds exactly what has Eliot so wound up. She scored a perfect seventeen points. She scored a perfect seventeen points for her blowjob on Quentin fucking Coldwater.

 

“Fuck,” she says under her breath, half amazed half concerned. Margo doesn’t like complex emotions. Not only did Eliot score the lowest amount of points so far, but he scored lower on Q than she did. Anyone who pays half an attention to Eliot knows how much that might bruise his ego. “El,” she says, reaching gently toward him.

 

“Don’t,” he snaps, sidestepping her reach. One of the balloons in the sculpture pops, causing someone to gasp in the background. Anyone who knows Eliot well knows he has a hard time controlling his telekinesis when his emotions are this raw. The room falls silent. Quentin jumps, startled by the loud noise. He looks from Eliot to Margo, and back again, mouth agape. He’s seen them get into it before, but he’s never seen Eliot reject Margo’s touch.

 

“You think I did this on purpose,” Margo deadpans. It isn’t a question. She doesn’t know if she’s more angry or hurt that Eliot would think that. Todd’s brow furrows and he cocks his head, confused. All eyes are on Eliot and Margo.

 

“You said it right before you went off with him,” Eliot’s voice is acidic with vitriol. He holds all his tension in his left hand, a few inches below his face. His other hand folds into his elbow, as if guarding himself.

 

Remembering the exchange from earlier, Quentin starts to piece things together. Guilt floods his system, settling in his gut until he’s nauseous.

 

“Oh come on,” Margo says, incredulous. Eliot’s fingers begin to rub against each other, clicking his fingernails as he thinks. “Seriously?” Margo asks, less rhetorically than she would like. Another balloon pops, causing a few spectators to jump and yelp. “I was fucking with you, playing the goddamn game,” she can’t believe it even needs to be said. “I didn’t set out to wreck Q any harder than anyone else,” she tries to reach for him again, Eliot recoils just as hard. Quentin tightens his lips, and runs a hand through his hair. He closes his eyes for a moment and just hopes it all will stop. “I went just as hard on everyone else, ask Todd,” she points to Todd before placing her hands on her hips. Todd points to himself and shakes his head, self conscious and terrified.

 

“Then why didn't you get a perfect score for Todd?”

 

“Fuck if I know, ask him,” she knows exactly why she didn’t, but she refuses to admit he was right about anything while he’s like this. Margo gives Todd a soft look, assuring him that no one is actually going to ask him anything.

 

“This was your plan all along wasn’t it?”

 

“My plan?” She raises her voice and crosses her arms over her chest. “You started this,” Pop.

 

Eliot scoffs, fiddling his fingers faster. “All because you can’t handle the fact that—”

 

“That what, Eliot?” Margo closes the space between them and raises her chin, she’s not backing down. “That you _think_ you’re better than me when that clearly isn’t the case,” she says, spitting the word ‘think’ so hits him square in the ego. She points sharply at the cork board to punctuate her jab. Pop, pop.

 

Eliot growls in frustration and stomps out of the room, when he passes by the balloon sculpture, the entire thing pops (what’s left of it anyway). The sound is almost like firecrackers against concrete, causing most of the room to jump. As Eliot storms off, every footfall feels angrier and more ominous as he ascends the creaky staircase. The room fills with mumbled speculation, and audible confusion. Quentin moves to go after Eliot, but Margo raises her hand sternly.

 

“Let him go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ **Curious about where Eliot stormed off to?** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15517332)


	10. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the heat of the competition drives Eliot to London in a rage, he finally returns to the cottage. What will become of his friendships and the competition that strained them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ **In case you missed Eliot’s visit to The Ball and Sack** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15517332)  
>     
> Welcome back guys. We’re starting to get close to the end. I can’t believe it. This chapter was a lot of fun to write. I got to truly explore these characters and relationship dynamics that I’m deeply in love with. I hope you enjoy the final product. This chapter sees the introduction of a canon character I haven’t had to pleasure of writing just yet. They’re a lovely addition to this Shitshow™️. 
> 
> As always, extra special thanks to The Machete Squad ([ **Rae** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highestkingbambi) and [ **Vivi** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivi_Marius)) for whipping this fic into shape. Continued thanks to [ **Coldfiredragon** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldfiredragon) and The Freetraders for their input and encouragement. <3

Booze, laughter, and revelry fill the room. It’s hard to believe raised voices and hurt feelings rang through the walls just an hour ago. The whispers of concern have long been abandoned in favor of lively chatter. The closest the party goers get to acknowledging the heated exchange is the occasional drunken selfie with the ruins of the balloon sculpture. For most, it’s like it never even happened. Margo, Quentin, and Todd, however, are still trapped beneath the weight of Eliot’s absence. He’s only been gone for an hour, but it feels like days. Margo brings her glass to her lips. She quickly downs the champagne, hoping a little buzz will help her get through this.

 

Soft footfalls creak down the stairs. The carefree atmosphere evaporates as the laughter dies down and the whispers return. A calmer, quieter Eliot appears holding something in his hands. Todd beams, raising his hand to wave, but quickly reconsiders. Quentin’s eyes light up as he turns to Margo and wordlessly gestures for her to go meet Eliot halfway. Margo walks toward the steps and settles in the nook at the base of the stairs, just out of earshot of most of the guests. Slowly, Eliot approaches her with the caution of a puppy with its tail between its legs. With a weak smile, he presents Margo with a small to-go box.

 

“Got you your fave,” he says softly. She returns the smile and takes the box of what she assumes is a rich chocolate cake from his hands. She makes sure their fingers brush lightly as she slips the box from his hands. “Ollie threw in a scotch egg because he knows you low key like them,” his voice is sweet yet heavy with remorse. “He wanted me to emphasize that the extra cream was from him,” he laughs, curling his lips into a playful smile.

 

“Is that his way of accepting our offer?” Margo asks with a smile in her voice, matching his energy. They're starting to get off track, but the playful exchange means they’re heading in the right direction.

 

“I’ve never been to the pub without you,” Eliot says, softly redirecting the conversation. His attempt at coming across matter-of-fact is undermined by his eyes begging for everything to just be okay again. The shift back to the matter at hand weighs heavily on both of them. How did they get here?

 

Margo turns away from Eliot’s nearly desperate gaze. “Good to know he missed me,” she says, folding her arms over her chest; the contents of the to-go box slide around as it settles in the crook of her elbow. In the suspicious quiet of the room, she realizes her voice is colder than it should be; she lets out a sharp breath and turns to face him. She’s hurt that he went to their spot without her, but she knows he’s trying to apologize.

 

“Bambi,” he pauses for a moment, swallowing his pride, and places his left hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.” He gazes softly into her eyes and slides his hand to cup her face.

 

“Look,” her voice is cold, but she quickly melts into his touch. “We both landed a few low blows,” she says with a soft shrug. This is the closest she’s going to get to making an apology for her half of the fight. “I want to win, but only if this is going to be fun, okay?” her voice is guarded and commanding. Margo is great at fighting, but still has some things to learn about making up. “You kinda got under my skin.” She tightens her arms around her chest, fingers dancing rapidly against her arm. She suddenly feels vulnerable as the words hang between them.

 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Eliot asks, playfully smug.

 

Margo rolls her eyes, and allows herself to smile at his inquiry. “After I win,” she says, emphasis on the last word; she isn’t going to give him the satisfaction of repeating herself. “You can wreck Q all you want. We both know he’s gagging for it,” she laughs. For the first time since his return, Eliot's smile makes it all the way up to his eyes.

 

Margo exhales and drops her arms, exhausted, the contents of her to-go box shifting yet again. Margo brings her hand to his to chest. She pauses to feel his heart beating; very few things feel this much like home. “So, are we finishing this thing?” She says before she has a chance to get lost in this moment.

 

Eliot places a gentle hand on her arm. He lightly strokes her with his thumb, understanding both her attempt at apology and her desire to stay in the comfort of his touch forever. “I mean, everything is already set up,” he says, levity returning to his voice.

 

“Does that mean you’re ready to nut up and give me a good fight?” She asks, ready to move on.

 

Eliot laughs, and rolls his eyes. “Am I ever anything but my best?” He asks playfully.

 

Margo allows herself to laugh for a brief moment; he can’t honestly believe he’s been anywhere close to his best lately. Aware of the delicate balance they’ve only just started to restore, she decides not to push it. “Loser has to promise not to bitch out,” she says with a smile as she points a stern finger into his chest.

 

“You think you can manage it?” Eliot says with a smile in his voice.

 

Margo catches a glimpse of Quentin waiting at the opposite end of the hall. She nods her head and waves him over.

 

“While you talk, I’ll tell Todd to keep the room distracted and that we’ll be back on in a few,” she places her empty hand on his bicep, and lets it linger for a moment before sliding it down his arm as she turns to walk away.

 

Shoulders hunched and messy hair in his face, a nervous Quentin slowly makes his way over. His arms are stiff at his sides, but his fingers fiddle rapidly; he has more anxiety in a single finger than most can store in their entire body. He stops in front of Eliot, and releases a heavy sigh. When the warmth of Eliot’s own sigh tickles his face, Quentin worries he is standing a bit too close. Stumbling back, he runs a hand through his hair with a nervous laugh.

 

A heavy silence looms between them, trapping their words in a web of tension and want. Quentin is the first to speak. “So, uh, I’m sorry,” he says, louder than he meant. He shuts his eyes tight, and mentally scolds himself.

 

Eliot’s lips turn up in a soft, crooked smile, but his eyes well up with concern. “What for?” he asks.

 

“For my part in this,” Quentin says. For the first time this evening, he looks Eliot directly in the eye. “I knew this would happen, and I still got involved.” He purses his lips.

 

Eliot reaches out for Quentin’s arm. He hovers for a moment, fearing his desired gesture may be too intimate, then clasps his hand down into Quentin’s shoulder. The touch is somewhere between genuine affection and the strange bromoeroticism of athletes. “No, Q, I’m sorry,” he says, with an exasperated sigh. “None of this is your fault.” His grip on Quentin tightens in a squeeze that more awkward than reassuring. Taking a deep breath, he continues his list of assurances. “Things with Margo can get a bit,” he pauses to try to find the right word. “Tumultuous,” he says, voice low and cautious. “But we’re fine.” The grip on Quentin’s shoulder softens.

 

“I still feel guilty.” Quentin’s eyes desperately plead with Eliot to understand.

 

Eliot searches Quentin’s face, hoping to gather his meaning without having to ask Quentin to tell him. For a split second, he almost wishes he was Psychic—almost. “Guilty?” He asks, stroking Quentin's shoulder with his thumb.

 

Quentin fumbles around for the right words, muttering under his breath. A bright blush rises to his face. He is overwhelmed with vivid flashes of the other night: the color of Eliot’s eyes, the roughness of his hands, the wet warmth of his mouth. Quentin doesn’t want this stupid game convincing Eliot that he wasn’t into one of the most erotic experiences of his life. “I want you to know that I really enjoyed your, uh, mouth—job,” he closes his eyes, and groans at the clumsy idiocy of his words. Eliot can’t help but laugh, much to Quentin’s embarrassment. Eliot slides his hand onto Quentin's neck, giving it a soft squeeze. Quentin shakes his thoughts loose and tries again. “I had a great time,” he says. The simple statement is missing the intensity of what he experienced, but he’s satisfied with the sentiment it communicates. Having gotten that off his chest, he brushes the hair out of his face, exhaling sharply.

 

Eliot runs his tongue over his lips. Quentin’s admission is so endearing, Eliot is overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him. Unsure of where they stand in this moment, he settles for bringing his lips close to Quentin’s ear. “I know, I was there,” he says, voice rumbling deep. He pulls back in time to see Quentin swallow hard, gliding his tongue over his own lips. Eliot strokes soft circles on Quentin’s neck. He begins to pull him closer, but a loud cough breaks the magnetism between them.

 

“Um, guys,” Todd’s says, unaware of the moment he just interrupted. “The room is getting a bit restless. Are you almost ready?”

 

Eliot rolls his eyes and a takes a deep, strained breath. A gentle apology fills Quentin’s eyes when he looks at Eliot before answering, “Yeah, we’re ready,” he says, making his way back to the party. Eliot starts to follow, but Todd stands awkwardly in his way.

 

“I’m sorry, dude,” Todd blurts out. Eliot raises an eyebrow at being called ‘dude’, but decides to let him continue for now. “For the record, I thought—”

 

Eliot cuts him off. He doesn’t have the time or interest for whatever bullshit comes next. “Thanks, Todd,” he says. Reminding himself that Todd likely didn’t mean any harm, Eliot places a firm hand on Todd’s shoulder, and gives him a soft nod before moving him out of the way.

 

When Eliot rejoins the party, some of the whispers start up again, but most of the room is far too drunk or distracted to care. Margo hands him a glass of champagne, another tacit apology, and he accepts, making sure to brush his fingers against hers as he grabs the glass.

 

Todd comes jogging into the room like a keynote speaker at one of those product launch conferences. “All right, guys! We’re back!” He announces. The room fills with cheers and applause. Todd makes an over the top show of quieting the room with his hands and playful ‘shushing’ noise. “To recap,” he continues. “Eliot and Margo are tied at seventy-six points each!” He points to the scoreboard and room fills with dramatic ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’. “Days of heated blowjobs and we’ve yet to determine a winner,” he says with a punchy affectation. If magic doesn’t work out for Todd, he can definitely find his calling as a sportscaster. “Looks like we’re going into a tiebreaker round!” Todd punctuates the statement by trying to make that stupid air horn sound with his mouth. Amused by his sound effects, the crowd laughs.

 

He places his hand on the object concealed beneath the black cloth. “Who is going to go home with the coveted title and this beautiful bad boy?” He snatches the black velour and yanks it away. Sunlight catches the curves of a long, golden object, filling the room with a shimmer. The crowd gasps and applauds harder, many of them start to laugh as they take it all in. A simple, gold sculpture that is almost certainly a dildo rests atop a glass pedestal. Despite the lack of obvious anatomical features, the streamlined oblong shape, considerable girth, and flanged base at one end make it clear that this trophy has another intended purpose. The ornate engraving on the glass beneath it is a stark contrast to the overt sexuality of the trophy. The inscription reads, ‘Three things in life that are more satisfying when hard: Change, Victory, Cock’.

 

“Nice job on that, by the way,” Quentin whispers to Eliot and Margo.

 

Before either one can respond, Todd continues his enthusiastic narration. “For the tie breaker round, we uh,” his momentum stops in its tracks. He hasn’t the slightest clue what to say or do next. “Uh,” he stammers again, looking nervously around the room. He turns toward Eliot and Margo, at a loss. “Guys, what’s the tiebreaker?” The room falls silent in anticipation.

 

Eliot and Margo stare blankly at each other, then at Todd. They turn toward Quentin, pointing vaguely with tight lips and scrunched brows. They have no idea what to do; they didn’t think this far.

 

“Uh, let’s think,” Eliot says, quietly, though the heavy silence of the room makes his words echo. The crowd continues to watch with bated breath. “Let's think,” he repeats, holding his hand to his chin, other hand tucked into his elbow. “We can do this. We’re smart.” He takes a couple steps around the room to allow himself to process.

 

“Is there any cock in this room we haven’t sucked?” Margo asks, more as an admission of lacking solutions than a genuine question.

 

The door to the cottage creaks as it swings open. Long, flowy fabric of a scarf and floor length duster enter the room ahead of Penny Adiyodi. His smooth swagger is thrown off balance when he takes in everything around him. He does a quick double take, more thrown by being caught off guard than by the situation itself. The cluttered psychic feedback of the cottage had him expecting a party, but the arrangement of the room appears to be more like a ceremony.

 

“Penny!” Eliot, Margo, and Todd shout in what would have been unison, if Todd wasn’t always a step behind. Penny throws his head back, silently cursing his luck with a groan.

 

Margo slinks over to Penny, heels clicking powerfully as she walks over to the door. “Perfect timing,” she says, grabbing his arm and walking him to the center of the room.

 

Penny notices the gold dildo perched in front of the gilded cork board. He cocks his head, but before he can ask, he notices the crystal vases and the notes posted to the board. The longer he looks around, the less sense things make. “The fuck did I just walk into?”

 

“We have an offer for you,” Eliot says with a grand, sweeping gesture.

 

Penny raises an eyebrow. “Offer?”

 

“Blowjobs. Say yes and you get two,” Margo says, bringing her free hand to Penny’s chest.

 

“Of top shelf quality,” Eliot picks up where Margo left off.

 

“Right now.” Margo takes full advantage of his habit of wearing his shirts open, and rakes her nails into the hair between his pectorals.

 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Right now?” Penny asks. “I’m in the middle of something.” He tries to step out of Margo’s grasp, but she tightens her grip as Eliot steps in front of him, backing him against the cork board.

 

“We can be quick,” Margo says, with force in her voice.

 

“More importantly we’ll be good.” Eliot places a reassuring hand on Penny's shoulder.

 

Suddenly, Penny’s mind floods with images of Margo. He cuts a quick glance in her direction. She has her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, and a sultry look in her eyes as she projects thoughts past her mental wards. Penny is overwhelmed with the image of Margo on her knees, lips wrapped around his cock. Her huge doe eyes peering into him as she slides him down her throat. When he doesn’t react, she adjusts the fantasy, sending him images of his fingers gripped hard around her hips as she rides his cock. Penny can almost feel the slapping of her ass against his hips.

 

Penny closes his eyes and commits the image to memory. A wicked smile spreads across his face, lips parted just enough to reveal the sight of his tongue pressed against his teeth. He leans in toward Margo. “Yeah?” He asks, voice gravelly and low with arousal.

 

“If you help us settle this,” she counters. Folding her arms over her chest.

 

Eliot cocks his head, he isn’t entirely sure what he just witnessed. It dawns on him that Penny is a psychic and Margo is exploiting that little gift to her advantage.

 

Images of a very naked, very bored-looking Eliot slip into Penny's thoughts; Margo can’t be the only one having a little fun. He’s draped across a couch, stretching his arms hard enough for tension to tighten the muscles in his torso one by one. A slow, tantalizing stroke of his substantial cock is enough to get a rise out of Penny.

 

“If I let you suck my dick, will you stop thinking about yourself naked?” he asks, making no effort to mask the exasperation in his voice. The images fall away just as quickly as they came. Margo laughs triumphantly; a smug grin lights Eliot’s face. Not the reaction he expected, but it got him what he wanted.

 

“Before I change my mind, are we doing this or not?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this chapter, let me know in a comment <3


	11. Tiebreaker: Round 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having convinced Penny to help them break the tie, the competition moves forward. We’re one blowjob closer to declaring a winner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back guys. This beginning of this chapter truly was a Challenge™️ for me to write. I went back and forth on a lot of details before I settled on the right voice. That said, this chapter is a lot of fun and I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> As always, extra special thanks to The Machete Squad ([ **Rae** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highestkingbambi) and [ **Vivi** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivi_Marius)) for whipping this fic into shape. They were especially helpful in this chapter, there was a lot of behind the scenes work on this one. You guys really do keep me grounded. 
> 
> Continued thanks to [ **Coldfiredragon** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldfiredragon) and The Freetraders for their input and encouragement. <3

Margo loosens her grip on Penny’s arm as she leads him back into the common area. The room fills with an uncomfortable mix of whispers and applause. Penny stands in front of the cork board, taking it all in. Rolling his eyes hard, he lets his head fall back as he groans.

 

“This is—” he says aloud, before he can finish his thought, something written on the cork board catches his eye. “Seventy-six points? How many dicks did you have to suck to get seventy-six points?” he says, laughing incredulously.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Margo says with a smirk.

 

Eliot moves behind Penny and places his hands on his shoulders. “Just relax,” he says, massaging his tight circles. He brings his lips close to Penny’s ear and whispers, “Let us take care of you.”

 

He swerves away from Eliot. “You mean let you use me to deal with your bullshit,” he says with a bitter laugh.

 

“I’ve never seen anyone bitch this much about getting their dick sucked,” Margo snaps. Penny rolls his eyes at her; she glares. A wicked smirk spreads across her lips as she projects another mental image at Penny; her fingers knotting into her thick hair, holding it away from her neck as her ass bounces on his cock. The low, textured hum of her voice reverberates through Penny’s mind as she moans this name over and over, emphasising exactly how much he has to gain from this arrangement.

Running his tongue over his bottom lip, Penny smirks in approval. “What do I need to do?” he asks, voice textured with playful exasperation.

 

The smirk on Margo’s lips widens into a bright smile. Her eyes light up with a clever stroke of genius. “How do you feel about putting on a little show?”

 

“What are you suggesting, Bambi?”

 

Margo looks around the room before looking back at Eliot. “We do have a captive audience.”

 

Eliot follows her gaze around the room and considers the devious smirk on her lips. A spark of understanding flashes through his eyes. “And we need to provide a spectacle,” he says, turning to Penny, picking up where Margo left off.

 

“You want to suck my dick,” Penny trails off as he starts to consider the offer. Bringing a hand to his chin, he laughs with his tongue pressed against his cheek. “In a room full of people,” he finishes, making no attempt to mask his obvious curiosity.

 

“Just sit back and enjoy the ride,” Eliot says, voice smooth and seductive.

 

Margo scans the room, searching for Todd. He has disappeared into the mess of inebriated guests and phallic refreshments. “Hey Todd,” she calls out. She can’t be bothered to look too hard.

 

“Yeah!” His voice draws Margo’s attention across the room. Todd is standing above the wreckage of the balloon sculpture, bowl of gummy dicks in one hand, trying to cast a mending spell with the other. Margo rolls her eyes and waves him over. He tries to make his way over, but snags his foot on the tangled up balloon remnants. The bowl of gummy dicks nearly slips out of his hand, but he manages to catch it after fumbling around. Once he’s steady, he shakes his foot free, careful not to drop the bowl, and walks over.

 

Todd settles between Eliot and Margo, face riddled with confusion. He simply throws a handful of gummy dicks into his mouth as he waits for further instruction. “We’re going to do the last round down here,” she says. Todd’s eyes widen with excitement. “Let the room know they’re in for one hell of a treat.” Margo turns her attention to their guest, “Penny, play along.”

 

Before Penny can ask for an explanation, Todd addresses the room in his sportscaster voice, “Hey guys!” A few people turn their attention to the center of the room, but many are too lost in a drunken haze to notice. “Who thinks we should make this round a little more interesting?” He asks, hyping the room with bouncing inflection and wild hand gestures. The attentive partygoers clap and cheer, catching the interest of the others. The small claps and cheers grow to a near riotous ferver. Cups clink together, hands raise into the air and napkins and shirts swing in thirsty anticipation. Todd takes the opportunity to quickly pop another gummy dick into his mouth. Penny rolls his eyes, failing to keep the smirk from his lips; Eliot and Margo lock eyes and smile, both burning with passion and determination. “What do you say?” The room goes quiet in anticipation.

 

Margo uncrosses her arms and saunters over to Penny. She slides her hands beneath his duster, making contact with the warmth of his skin. “I’m down if Penny thinks he can handle it,” Margo says with a casual arrogance. A hushed “ooh” at the sting of Margo’s challenge spreads across the room as guests take in the performance.

 

Penny takes a step closer, so he’s chest to chest with Margo. He looks down into her eyes, smoldering with lust and arrogance. “You got another thing coming if you think I’m afraid of a little public action,” he says loud enough so the entire room can hear. Another oooh echoes through the crowd.

 

“Eliot?” Margo asks, eyebrow raised. The entire room turns their focus to Eliot, anxiously anticipating his response.

 

Eliot rolls his eyes. “Please, I’ve been having public sex since I was 16,” he says, feigning a yawn.

 

Todd nods his head and steps forward to address the crowd. “In order to play you have to agree to the rules and submit to the magic of the cork board,” he says more for Penny’s benefit than anyone else’s. Penny shrugs and steps toward the cork board and crosses his arms over his chest.

 

The nearly empty cork board slowly posts decorative stationary pages, one by one, setting each with a crystal pushpin. Intricate calligraphy scribes the rules onto the pages in fluid strokes. Penny takes the rules in as they post, slowly nodding as he reads. A spark of light travels through each of the pages, binding them together with the ancient magic. Sighs of amazement and wonder fill the room. The light springs off the cork board and onto Penny’s hip, inking the sigil onto his skin. Frustrated that no one mentioned anything about a tattoo, Penny growls at the new marking on his skin.

 

“Fuck,” Penny swears. “If this is permanent,” he says, his hand unconsciously clenching into a fist. Margo cuts him a sharp look.

 

“It’s just until we declare a winner,” Eliot reassures.

 

Penny rolls his eyes far back into his head, but relents. “I’ll settle your shit, but I didn’t sign up to be one of your fucktoys.”

 

“All right, now that that’s handled, who’s up first?” Todd asks, redirecting the room. Penny shoots a glare at him.

 

Eliot and Margo look to each other blankly. Eliot unfolds his arms and turns out his hand to suggest that Margo take the first go. An offended grimace twists Margo’s face and she gestures her own hand, mimicking Eliot. Before their silent bickering can continue, Penny interjects, frustrated.

 

“Just make up your minds, or flip a coin, or something,” he snaps.

 

“Right, a coin,” Eliot says, thinking aloud with a single finger pointing at nothing in particular. “Good idea Penny.”

 

“Anybody got a coin?” Margo asks. A few whispers and rustling pockets flow through the room, but most don’t bother to respond. An idea strikes Margo, and from the looks of it, Eliot is struck with same realization. They turn to Quentin. He’s absentmindedly rolling a coin between his fingers; every time it passes from one side of his hand to the other, the coin vanishes for a second. The intensity of their combined gaze pulls Quentin from his thoughts. He jumps, looking from Eliot to Margo in sheer terror. Eliot advances on him, hand outstretched.

 

“The coin, Q,” Quentin looks around him nervously, before swallowing hard and placing the coin in Eliot’s hand. Eliot tosses the coin at Todd who, to his surprise, manages to catch it effortlessly.

 

“Call it,” Todd says, revving up to toss the coin into the air.

 

“Tails!”

 

Eliot and Margo respond in unintended unison. Todd looks at them, defeated, and drops his hand. The coin falls to the floor with a quiet ‘thump’. The room fills with laughter; even Penny chuckles. Todd tightens his lips in frustration and gives Eliot and Margo a stern look. As he bends down to pick up the coin, his slacks tighten over his ass, giving the room a good view. A few partygoers catcall and whistle. Coin in hand, he stands back up and twirls in a circle, awkwardly trying to identify his admirers. When no one seems willing to come forward, he continues with the competition.

 

“Heads is Margo, tails is Eliot.” Todd tosses the coin hif into the air. Those still invested in the competition follow the coin with their eyes. Todd holds his hand out, and the coin pops into his palm. He takes a quick glance and quickly closes his fist, bringing it to his chest with a smirk.

 

“Heads, Margo’s up first!” He announces, pointing dramatically in her direction.

 

Margo shrugs and grabs Penny by the arm. He cocks am incredulous eyebrow as she drags him to the other side of the room. Before them rests a chair constructed of haphazardly stitched together pillows made of denim jeans; the various shades of blue create a patchwork effect that is strangely comforting. The chair is bound together in three places by rusty-brown leather belts. Margo gestures toward the chair with her hand, and Penny plops down, taking a moment to run his hands over the denim and tug at the belts.

 

“Are we ready?” Todd asks.

 

Margo takes position between Penny’s legs, resting her hands on his knees. She scoffs, offended that Todd would even ask. Penny reclines into the jean bag chair, arms and legs spread wide.

 

“The final round starts,” Todd pauses brief to build suspense. “Now!”

 

Penny smirks at Margo as he brings his hands to the clasp of his pants. He slowly unfastens the button. Margo’s face hardens into a scowl and she snaps a finger to hurry him along. Making quick work of his zipper, Penny slides his hand into his pants, over his cock, giving it a few good strokes before taking it out.

 

Margo groans, dissatisfied. “No, I need access to the full setup,” she condescends with a harsh laugh, pushing herself away from Penny’s lap. Penny raises an eyebrow, but rises to his feet to slide his pants over his hips and off his legs. Soft whispers fill the room, they begin to crescendo as people who only came to get wasted start crowding around the jeanbag chair. The dull roar drops to near silence, thick with anticipation, as if people don’t know if they should speak or not. “Much better,” she says, giving his cock a quick tug before pushing him back into the chair. A single guest catcalls the bold display and the spell is broken; cheers fill the room.

 

Margo descends on Penny, gripping his cock as she brings her mouth to his neck. She runs hot, open mouthed kisses down his throat and along his collarbone. Penny lets his head fall back and takes in the energy of his surroundings. Continuing to stroke his cock, Margo works her way down Penny’s torso, taking his skin into her mouth and sucking hard, occasionally seizing it between her teeth. Penny’s fingers grip the belts binding the jeanbag chair, each stroke of his cock causing him to grip a little tighter. When Margo’s mouth reaches his navel, she dips her tongue inside, causing him to jump. She deepens the pressure before withdrawing her tongue with a slow, dramatic curl. Her hands slide up Penny’s legs, brushing lightly before moving up to his hips. Penny involuntarily jerks away from the delicate tickle of her fingers. Margo meets his eyes with a raised eyebrow. Penny shrugs, urging her to continue. She kisses along the coarse hair beneath his navel, following it all the way down to where it meets his cock. Releasing his cock from her grip, she dips her head and glides her tongue up his shaft at an agonizingly slow pace. When she reaches the head, she allows her tongue to slide off his cock and onto his stomach, placing a wet kiss against his abs.

 

A wicked smile claims her lips as she’s struck with an idea. If she’s going to put on a show, she might as well take it all the way. She sits back on her heels and waits for Penny to sit up. Once she has his attention, she grabs the hem of her camisole. Pulling it slowly up her body, she reveals inch after inch of warm skin, pausing briefly as the cotton rests just below her breasts. The room is heavy with silent anticipation, save for a small whisper questioning if she’s really going to do it. In a swift movement, she pulls the fabric over her head. She’s glad she had the foresight to forgo a bra today. The rosy light of the setting sun glints off the metal orbs on either side of her nipples, and the room erupts in applause and cheers. A wide, genuine smile spreads across Penny’s face. From the windowsill, she hears Eliot scoff.

 

She returns to Penny’s lap and properly takes his cock into her mouth for the first time. With her lips, she slides his foreskin back just enough to slip her tongue underneath. She rolls her tongue around the head before sucking hard, working the skin over the tip with her lips. Penny moans, placing a slightly hesitant hand in her hair. Slipping him out of her mouth, Margo slowly rolls his foreskin off the head with her fingers. Using the tip of her tongue, she traces along his frenulum with a pressure so delicate, Penny squirms beneath her. She continues her clever tongue work, determined to wreck him. As she expects, his cock jerks in her grip, and his hips roll softly. Before he has too much time to get frustrated, she closes her mouth over his cock. Languid strokes of the flat of her tongue help build up the moisture in her mouth. She slowly begins to stroke the head of his cock, taking him progressively deeper with each pass. The wetness of her mouth allows her glide easily down his shaft. Her tongue slips out of her lips, flush against his cock. A stray moan from a voice she doesn’t recognize fills her with a devious confidence; she nearly forgot they have an audience. She quickens her pace, the saliva making wet smacks and slurps as she goes. A low groan escapes Penny’s throat.

 

“Fuck yeah!” a deep voice calls from somewhere behind her. Laughter and cheers echo through the room in response. Margo cuts a quick glance over to Eliot; his arms are crossed over his chest in a poorly executed show of indifference.

 

Working Penny’s cock with her tongue, she brings her hand to cup his balls. Rolling them over each other with firm pressure swiftly evolves into lightly dragging her nails along his sack, sending a sharp chill up his spine. Penny threads his fingers into her hair. She hums as he slowly massages her scalp, the sensation causing Penny to moan. When his fingers bump into her elastic hair tie, he groans in frustration. Penny yanks the tie off of her ponytail, releasing her thick, chestnut curls. He knots his fingers deeper into her hair, his movements brush the tresses along her cheeks and shoulders.

 

Margo pulls her mouth from Penny’s cock, looking up at him with a scowl. “If you’re gonna do that, you’d better hold it, because I’m not about to blow you with this shit in my face,” she snaps before taking his cock back into her mouth. Over in the windowsill, Quentin laughs a little too loudly, earning a punishing glare from Penny. Penny takes a moment to consider Margo’s command, but ultimately obeys, scooping her hair up into a ponytail and holding it in place behind her head. Margo rewards him with a clever twirl of her tongue before inching his cock deeper into her mouth. She slides onto him further, slowly working him down her throat, earning a ragged moan from Penny. When her lips reach the base of his cock, she snaps her eyes open. A very attentive Penny is looking down at her, his lust filled eyes flicker with awe before he can restrain them. The intensity of her gaze burns into the back of Penny’s mind as she slips her tongue forward to stroke his balls. Though her movement is limited by the pressure of Penny’s cock against her tongue, Margo strokes lightly along the seam of his nutsack.

 

“Fuck,” Penny swears, tightening his fingers in her hair. Without breaking eye contact, she glides off his cock slowly, tongue flush against the shaft. Inch by inch, his glistening cock re-emerges from her little disappearing act. When she reaches the head, she lets it fall off her tongue. She holds her mouth ajar for a moment, letting everyone take in the strands of saliva connecting them catch the quickly fading sunlight.

 

Margo quickly recaptures Penny’s cock and sucks with renewed vigor. Her hand slides back to his balls, massaging him firmly as she sucks. Penny throws his head back in ecstasy. His balls tighten in her hand as his cock pulses in her mouth; he must be getting close. Margo glances up to see his eyes closed. Increasing her speed and intensity, she focuses on a mental image of her looking up at Penny, cock deep in her throat. As if on cue, Penny’s cock pulses, filling her mouth with cum as a deep groan escapes his throat. His hands fall out of her hair, leaving it to fall around her shoulders.  Margo moans at the complexity of the sweetness mixed in with the rich, heady taste. She slides his cock out of her mouth and rises to her feet, swiftly grabbing her hair tie. Breathing heavily, Penny sinks deeper into the jeanbag chair. Boisterous applause surrounds her as she puts her hair back into a ponytail. The sigil on Penny’s hip illuminates with the lightning blue glow; he looks down, confused.

 

“The fuck?”

 

“Relax, Penny, it’s just your score,” Margo says, trying to soothe him, but her tone comes across harsh. The light jumps off of Penny’s hip and into the cork board with a shimmer, revealing a small, wax-sealed envelope.

 

Having been on her knees a while, Margo grabs her shirt from beside her and rises to her feet, stretching her arms as high as her body will allow. “If I have to get that myself,” she snarks, pulling her shirt back over her head, earning a few disappointed groans. Before she can finish her thought, Todd walks over to the cork board. His enthusiastic reach for the envelope is halted when a red spark snaps off the cork bard, burning his fingers. He recoils and the crowd gasps. Putting his fingers into his mouth to soothe them, Todd looks to Margo, confused, and is met with an equally confused shrug.

 

“Guess you’re up, El.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave me a comment letting me know. <3


	12. Tiebreaker: Round 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second part of the tiebreaker round sees Eliot take his shot at Penny. Can he recover his lead?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! We’re almost at the end. Just one more chapter left. I can’t believe it’s almost over. 
> 
> This chapter was a lot of fun to write. I’m a Slut™️ for PennyRoyal. The dynamic is so much fun and I can’t wait to explore it more. 
> 
> As always, extra special thanks to The Machete Squad ([ **Rae** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highestkingbambi) and [ **Vivi** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivi_Marius)) for whipping this fic into shape. 
> 
> Continued thanks to [ **Coldfiredragon** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldfiredragon) and The Freetraders for their input and encouragement. <3

Bored voices echo off the walls. While Penny recovers, the room has devolved back into loud chatter to pass the time. Once he’s ready, he glances in Eliot’s direction. Placing a soft hand on Quentin's knee, Eliot rises from the windowsill, ready to secure a win. He looks back at Margo and she narrows her eyes in a look that is just as much encouragement as it is a challenge. She wants him to do well for his own sake almost as much as she wants to beat him at his best. With a smooth nod, he acknowledges her one last time before making his way over to Penny.

 

Still naked from the waist down, Penny lounges the jeanbag chair, hands behind his head, legs spread wide. Eliot rolls the sleeves of his grey, paisley shirt, revealing his forearms. He brings his hands to his collar and pops the first button open. The room watches with anticipation as he unbuttons the next one, then another. Slipping his hand beneath the placket of his shirt, he allows his rough fingers to stroke the soft hair on his chest, the slow movement pulling his shirt open slightly as he takes a step forward. His eyes light up with determination.

 

Eliot closes in on Penny, leaving only a few inches between them. Penny’s gaze burns with a challenge. Leaning in, a wicked smirk spreads across Eliot’s face. He brushes his lips against Penny’s as he twines his fingers into his scarf. Pulling his lips away, he slowly brings his other hand to the scarf, taking it between his fingers. Fluid, alternating pulls of his hands slide the scarf off Penny’s neck, making sure the lush fabric tickles his ears before the ends graze his bare chest. With the scarf off of Penny’s body, Eliot folds it in half over his hands. A languid, suggestive stroke over the length of the garment is punctuated with a hard snap once he has an end in each hand. Penny reaches for his scarf, but Eliot quickly throws it over his shoulder, behind him.

 

Masking his amusement, Penny rolls his eyes. _“_ Do you ever just _do_ anything?” he says, playful enough to spurr Eliot on without encouraging further theatrics. His snarky statement earns a few laughs around the room.

 

“Oh, Penny, you should know better,” Eliot says as he positions himself on his knees. He slides his hands up Penny’s torso, sliding the duster further off his shoulders. He drags his hand back down toward Penny’s cock, scratching his fingers through the coarse hair with one hand, lightly testing the sensitivity of Penny’s nipple with the other.

 

Eliot takes Penny’s continued, stoic non-response as a cue that it’s time to move on, focusing his attention just above Penny's cock. A gentle, deliberate stroke of the back of his fingers along the hair has Penny hardening beneath him. Eliot slides his hand over Penny’s hip; remembering the response during Margo’s blowjob, he traces his fingers over the sigil. When Penny bucks at the touch, Eliot brings his fingers together before slowly dragging them back out so his hand lays flat again. The motion sends a deep shiver though Penny that he can’t suppress. Eliot laughs deep in his throat before bringing his mouth to the opposite hip. He traces a small spiral with his tongue, causing Penny to jump.

 

“Knock it off,” he growls. “You promised me a blowjob, not torture.” Eliot can’t tell if Penny wants it to stop because it truly is torture or if he is secretly into it. Afraid of making a grave error, he moves on.

 

Eliot’s tongue runs over his lips, leaving them slick. He places a firm, wet kiss at the base of Penny’s cock before gliding his tongue up the shaft, pressing it against his stomach. Taking Penny into his mouth, he swirls his tongue over the head before working it beneath his foreskin. Another clever swirl has Penny slumping into the chair with a moan. Eliot slips his mouth off Penny’s cock, catching his foreskin between his lips. He gives the skin a soft nip, just barely pulling it away from the head. Releasing it, he swipes his tongue over the skin-covered head one last time before smoothly rolling it back. He takes the exposed head into his mouth and sucks hard. Penny moans, bringing his hand into Eliot’s hair. Eliot glides his mouth over Penny’s cock, allowing him to slip further into his mouth with each pass.

 

Pulling back to the head, he swirls intricate shapes along Penny’s frenulum, earning some surprisingly soft moans. He slides Penny from his mouth, and places wet kisses down the length of his cock. When he reaches his balls, he brings his hand up to work the tip, sliding the foreskin over the spit-slick head. He pulls one of Penny’s testicles into his mouth with soft suction before taking the other in to join it. He massages his tongue over them, rolling them in his mouth before sucking with more deliberate intensity.

 

“Shit,” Penny curses under his breath, tightening his fingers in Eliot’s hair. Pleased with himself, Eliot hums around Penny’s balls before releasing them with a soft ‘pop’. He runs his tongue along the sensitive skin just beneath Penny’s testicles, eliciting a deep moan. He considers dipping his tongue lower to tease his asshole, but quickly decides against it in fear of turning Penny off. Licking his way back up Penny’s cock, Eliot lets the image of him buried between Penny’s cheeks fill his mind. The thought of Penny moaning beneath him, grinding against his tongue, is way more delicious than it should be, and he hopes Penny picks up on that pretty little vignette. When he reaches the tip of Penny’s cock, he curls his tongue around him, before pulling him back into his mouth. A quiet ‘ooh’ of astonishment comes from the crowd.

 

Galvanized by the reaction of his spectators, Eliot sucks with a renewed vigor, turning his head and twisting his tongue against Penny's cock. He alternates tight, firm suction around the head with smooth, broad strokes down the shaft. The crowd cheers every time he switches it up. Penny’s fingers start to massage his scalp, and he feels him start to twitch in his mouth. He slides back to the head for a final round of firm, enthusiastic pressure. Maintaining consistent suction, he cups his tongue around Penny’s cock to add to the stimulation. He grabs Penny’s testicles and gives him a soft squeeze. A low, gravelly moan escapes from Penny’s throat as his cock pulses between Eliot’s lips. Cum spills into his mouth; he moans around Penny in satisfaction.

 

Eliot slides his fingers across Penny’s abdomen, stroking the coarse hair beneath his navel; he can’t tell if the slight glisten is from Penny’s sweat or his own. He slips Penny’s cock from his mouth, closing his lips against his frenulum in a soft kiss. Penny jerks, sending another thick, slow stream of cum dripping from his cock and onto Eliot’s lips. Not how Eliot wanted this to go, but he’s determined to make the most of it. Looking up at Penny, he pouts his lip. With hungry eyes and the coif of his hair collapsed and disheveled from sweating, he’s sure he’s quite the sight. Penny laughs deep in his throat, sated and amused. Without looking away, Eliot parts his lips just enough to let his tongue swipe a bit of cum off his bottom lip. Penny playfully rolls his eyes and slides a hand onto Eliot’s neck, pulling him into a kiss. The room falls silent. Margo sits up, watching attentively with narrowed eyes and dark smirk. A confused groan escapes Eliot as Penny’s lips meet his. Penny’s tongue glides over Eliot’s bottom lip as it slips into his mouth. His tongue swipes over Eliot's, still coated in cum. Penny moans before withdrawing from Eliot. Eliot didn’t figure Penny for the type to enjoy his own taste; he miscalculated. Applause and cheers fill the room as Eliot rises to his feet.

 

Slumped into the jeanbag chair, Penny is breathing heavily with a smile. Eliot hopes the reaction is to his clever work and not just the overwhelming circumstance of receiving back to back blowjobs in a room full of people. Before anyone has the chance to slow down, the ever-obnoxious light of the cork board engulfs the sigil. Penny doesn’t even flinch this time as it jumps into the envelope with a sparkle. The applause dies down as Eliot and Margo share a nervous, but excited glance. Eliot walks over to the cushion on windowsill and sits between Quentin and Margo. He gestures at the cork board.

 

“Todd, will you do the honors?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who do you think is going to win? Who do you want to win? Let me know in a comment.


	13. The Winner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The winner is declared and the gang winds down after a week of tense competition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The 13th and final chapter is here. This project has been a true Joy™️ to write and I hope have enjoyed it as much as I have. This fic has really helped me open up my exploration of these characters and I’m excited for my work going forward. I have a few follow ups planned as well. ;). 
> 
> As always, extra special thanks to The Machete Squad ([ **Rae** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highestkingbambi) and [ **Vivi** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivi_Marius)) for whipping this fic into shape. 
> 
> Continued thanks to [ **Coldfiredragon** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldfiredragon) and The Freetraders for their input and encouragement. <3

The room is quiet; murmurs of conjecture and anticipation keep it from being completely silent. Todd looks at Eliot, pointing to himself with wide eyes as if he hasn’t been emceeing this entire evening. All eyes are on him as he rises from his seat opposite Eliot. With slow, shaky steps, Todd approaches the cork board with more hesitation than he’s had this entire competition. The room falls silent. With a nervous, unsteady hand, he reaches for the wax-sealed envelope, afraid of being burned again. As Todd’s fingers just barely connect with the envelope, a soft gasp pierces the quiet. When the first brush of his fingers doesn’t trigger the wrath of the cork board, Todd takes the envelope firmly in hand, holding it up for the room to see. He drops his arms and takes another long look at the envelope. His eyes dart from the envelope to Margo, then Eliot, then back to his hands; a nervous smile plays at his lips.

 

“This century, Todd,” Margo snaps, folding her arms over her chest.

 

“The attempt at drama is appreciated, but we’ve already had an entire week of foreplay,” Eliot says with a yawn.

 

Todd flips the envelope in his fingers, running them over the wax seal one last time, savoring the moment. He pops the seal open with a crisp ‘snap’ just loud enough for him to hear. He pulls the note card out of the envelope slowly enough to milk the moment, but not long enough to incur Margo’s wrath. He cocks an eyebrow before he speaks. “Earning a score of fifteen in the tiebreaker round, with an overall score of ninety-one,” he takes a brief pause. “Our runner up is. . .” This pause is much more substantial. Margo’s arms are stone tight across her chest, but her fingers fidget rapidly in anticipation. Eliot takes a sip from his flask, a nervous tick that could just as easily be mistaken for boredom. Quentin runs his fingers through his hair with a sigh.

 

“Eliot!” Todd announces. The room fills with a strange mix of boisterous cheers and golf claps. Eliot’s fingers tighten around his flask as he takes another sip. He is quickly presented with a congratulatory flute of champagne. Draining the glass in one go, he can’t decide if that is a brilliant or lazy consolation prize. Margo glances over at Eliot to find him stone-faced, eyes glassy as he processes everything that has happened over the last few days. After a short moment of considering the ebb and flow of the competition, Eliot exhales, releasing the tension. A soft nod tells Margo he’s okay, allowing her restless fingers to still; a proud smirk replaces her aloof expression.

 

“And our winner,” Todd says, hunching his body slightly as he looks to around the crowd, a wide smile spreading across his face. The room falls silent at his words. “With a tiebreaker score of sixteen points, and an overall score of ninety-two,” yet another dramatic, and this time unnecessary pause. “Is Margo!” The cheers return with heightened ferver. Confetti and balloons fly from every direction, no one can tell exactly where they are coming from. The display is cheesy, but, much to Eliot’s chagrin, it gets an enthusiastic response out of the crowd. He fishes a fleck of confetti out of his drink, annoyed. Margo takes a step forward and dips down in a graceful curtsey. The crowd response is mixed; some are confused by the reserved display, while others expect nothing less from self-appointed Cottage Royalty. Before the room can get too comfortable with her gracious genuflection, she sticks her tongue out, curling it in a provocative gesture directed at no one in particular. Eliot rolls his eyes at the slightly vulgar boast and stifles a laugh. Margo definitely has her own flair for dramatics.

 

Todd takes a couple steps over to the cork board, and picks the trophy up from the table in front of it. The amber, now artificial, light filling the room glints off the curves of the golden dildo, catching the sharp corners of the glass base each time Todd moves a little. He reads the inscription for the room to hear, “Three things in life that are more satisfying when hard: Change, Victory, Cock.” The room erupts into a fit of laughter and Todd places the trophy into Margo’s hands. “That wasn’t too hard to swallow, was it?” He asks with a wink and a wide smile, clearly proud of his innuendo. He’s met with a mix of laughter and playful groans. Margo takes the trophy and raises it to her eye level, appraising it, before looking over at Eliot. It’s showtime.

 

Eliot locks eyes with Margo just long enough to give her a devious smile. The smile quickly dissolves into a dramatic pout, and he gazes longingly at the trophy.

 

“Aww, if you want me to give it you, El, just ask,” she says, voice raspy and thick with innuendo. She punctuates her comment with a sultry wink that is entirely for show; the crowd ‘oohs’ at her clever suggestion like a studio audience watching a kiss in a sitcom. Eliot’s shakes his head playfully.

 

“You really think I would take it?”

 

“We both know the answer to that,” she says so matter of fact Eliot almost forgets to react. He feigns disagreement with a dramatic roll of the eyes. Before he can slip in a response, someone in the crowd wolf whistles, and a few chuckles spread across the room. The ‘oohs’ return, louder this time, clearly heavy with drunken lechery.

 

“Okay, chill,” she says over the rising volume of the crowd. The ‘oohs’ and catcalls begin to settle down. “Are we gonna party or what?!” A boisterous cheer unifies the room as cups rise into the air to celebrate. Music starts bumping from nowhere, as it often does in movies. Taking their cue that the show is over, people spread out around the room, many making their way to the drinks and phallic refreshments.

 

Margo heads for the champagne, but Eliot wraps his fingers around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. She turns to face him, ready to remind him that he promised he wouldn’t be a sore loser. To her pleasure, Eliot wordlessly pulls her into an embrace. She melts into his touch, allowing herself to relax for the first time since the fight. When he releases her, she meets his gaze with a proud smirk. He smiles back, nodding his defeat, and Margo’s smirk softens into a genuine, beaming smile. They interlock fingers and make their way to the refreshments where Todd is waiting for them with glasses of champagne. They linger a bit before unraveling their hands and grab the flutes from Todd.

 

“You’ve earned it,” he says, beaming. Margo looks at his lips, considering them for a moment, her tongue glides over her own as she contemplates exactly how she’s going to thank Todd tonight. Catching sight of Quentin, and then Penny (still sitting in the jeanbag chair with a casual hand  resting on his thigh. Margo catches a slight glimpse of his still exposed cock), she decides her dance card is full for the night.

 

“Thanks,” she says simply. When Eliot wordlessly accepts his glass, she nudges him. His face twists into a grimace before he addresses Todd.

 

“Yes, thank you.”

 

Looking back over at Penny, Margo grabs another flute of champagne and saunters over. She picks his pants off the floor and takes a seat across from him, crossing one knee over the other.

 

“You gonna sit here with your dick out all night?” She asks casually.

 

“Nah, I just figured I’d give you one last look,” Penny says, nonchalantly removing his hand long enough for her to catch a healthy glimpse, having no shame over having long gone soft. “Congratulations.” They share a laugh as Margo tosses Penny his pants. Penny eyes the champagne, and when she doesn’t immediately offer it to him, he reaches for the glass.

 

Margo pulls the glass out of his reach with a smirk. “Oh, you’ll congratulate me later,” she says, taking a sip, more to tease Penny than for her own desire. “Soon, unless you’re still _in the middle of something._ ” Her tone is sharp, as she mentions his earlier excuse. Penny playfully rolls his eyes with a smile, and Margo finally hands him the flute of champagne. He downs it in one go and sets the glass down before shimmying his way back into his pants and rising to his feet.

 

He closes the space between them, towering over her. “I could be free tonight,” he says, voice low and seductive. “Gotta take care of something first.”

 

Margo shrugs and glances over at Todd before meeting his eyes. “I won’t wait forever.”

 

Eliot steps up behind Margo and places his hand at the small of her back. “Hey,” he says, greeting both of them. Penny rolls his eyes at the intrusion, but lifts his chin in a nod of acknowledgment.

 

“I guess we should properly thank you for helping us out,” he says to Penny.

 

“It was my pleasure,” Penny deadpans so evenly they almost don’t catch the wordplay.

 

“The whole room knows, trust me,” Margo laughs, absentmindedly leaning into Eliot. Eliot licks his lips, deep in thought over whether or not to ask Penny how he felt getting head from a man in a room full of people.

 

“Like a fuckin’ God,” Penny says, answering Eliot’s silent question. Eliot curses himself for letting that one slip through his wards; he’s usually so much tighter than this.

 

“I’m not stupid. I know you know your way around a cock,” he says, matter of fact. Eliot fills with a smug satisfaction that he makes no effort to hide from his face. “And between you and me,” Penny leans in close, keeping his voice low. “You’re not the first guy I’ve let suck my dick,” he says, leaving Eliot stunned. Margo smirks, already beginning to work out how she can apply this information. “Tonight,” Penny says to Margo, as he starts to walk out of the room. “Don’t get any ideas!” He calls back to her as he vanishes from sight.

 

Eliot and Margo burst into laughter as they amble around the party in search of Quentin. They will definitely be discussing this later.

 

Taking another sip from her glass, Margo notices Todd leaning by the refreshments. A tall redhead slinks over and whispers into his ear. Todd’s face lights up and he quickly nods at their suggestion. He follows them toward the staircase and before he can get too far, a short woman with dark hair and olive skin grabs him by the collar, attempting to pull him in a different direction. She’s average at best, but Margo can’t help but feel a little excited to see Todd getting some attention. Todd looks at the girl, then back at the redhead. Margo chuckles; the poor guy never could accept a proposition smoothly. Todd shakes the bewilderment from his face, replacing it with confident smirk. His hands gesture as his lips move, clearly pitching an idea, but Margo is too far away to hear him. Excited, hungry glances dance around the trio and they stumble toward the stairs, giggling. As they get closer, Todd sees Margo. He almost looks guilty as he stumbles by, draped between his new playmates. His eyes practically plea with her as if begging her to tell him to drop them—a command she’s not about to give.

 

“You’re welcome,” she says, right as he’s close enough to hear.

 

Todd cocks his head to the side, lingering in front of her. “Thanks, uh...” As he tries to find the right words, his new friends tug at his clothes. “Congratulations on your mouth!” he says, making a slightly awkward finger gun as the redhead and brunette finally steal him away. He doesn’t even realize how ridiculous he is.

 

“What the all encompassing fuck did I just witness?” Eliot asks. Her answer is interrupted by Quentin laughing in the corner

 

“There you are,” Eliot says, making his way onto the floor next to Quentin who is staring at them with one of Josh’s macarons held near his mouth, as if he’s forgotten he was eating it.

 

Margo takes a seat on the other side of him. “We were starting to think you ditched us.”

 

“Ditched you?” he asks, confused. “Just enjoying the party.” They notice a tattered copy of one of the Fillory books in his hand; Margo makes a mental note to try reading them while high when she gets the chance.

 

“Enjoying?” Eliot says, dismayed. “Oh Q, I have so much to teach you.”

 

“Now that it’s out of your system, do you feel better?” Quentin asks, taking control of the conversation; his eyes hold the seriousness of a parents scolding a child. Margo smirks, knowing there is no need to vocalize her answer.

 

Eliot is quiet, truly considering his feelings about this week. Between the fight, the conversation with Oliver, and making up with both of his friends, Eliot is honestly just glad to have the weight off his shoulders. He doesn’t need any extra pressure to be the best. He nods at Quentin, finally answering the question. Margo laces her fingers into Eliot’s and squeezes his hand.

 

Quentin smiles, tucking some hair behind his ear. “Now that it’s settled, can we agree?”

 

“Agree?”

 

“To what?”

 

Eliot and Margo answer simultaneously.

 

“That you never do this again.” The three of them laugh their agreement, cuddled together on the floor, reveling in the knowledge that, absurd or not, this will be the stuff of legend.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, please leave some kudos and/or a comment. <3


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